A Modern Christmas Carol
by ScroogeMcDuck
Summary: Staves One and Five written when I was 13, Staves Two, Three and Four the next year, when I felt the urge to round it all off. Also has additional scenes. Dedicated to ISABELITA ROX, my devout reviewer!
1. Marley's Ghost

**A Modern Christmas Carol**

**Being a Ghost Story of Christmas**

**Based on the original book by Charles Dickens**

**Stave One**

Part One-Christmas Eve

Dismal, dreary, DREICH! A typical Scottish Christmas Eve, with the suggestion of snow that never seemed to arrive. Cars crawled slowly along in the road in procession, their horns blaring and adding to the din as weary businessmen and frazzled last minute Christmas shoppers poured out of offices and shops and streamed onto the street. Classic Christmas music sounded from the speakers outside crowded shops with songs like Jingle Bells and Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer adding to the Christmas atmosphere. Fragrent smells of clove and cinnamon along with other holiday treats wafted from the bakers and enticed all who passed, tempting them with their rich, fruity scents. Brightly coloured tinsel was intertwined around the lamp-posts, in vibrant colours of red, green and gold, while Christmas lights winked from the rooftops, flickering on and off in time to the music.

Little children dashed around the stores, eagerly pressing their noses against the Toys R Us window, gazing longingly at Barbie dolls, The Broons and Oor Wullie annuals and Action Men.

Mothers pushed prams laden with Tesco shopping bags and hauled their whining wee bairns past the enticing entrance to the Disney Store. Party-goers teetered on ridiculously high heels on the icy pavements, occasionally sliding to a halt so that they might catch a glimpse of the gleaming jewels in HS Samuels's festive display.

A busker strummed with frozen fingers hoping passers-by would help him feed himself as well as 'Feed the World' as the popular Christmas Song encouraged. And feed him they did, those who passed by, they tossed their change into his tin so that it clanked merrily. The busker thanked them with a hearty cry of "Merry Christmas an' God bless ya!" before returning to his tune, with a wide grin appearing on his face.

However, not everyone was in the Christmas spirit…

Part Two- Mr. Richard Scrooge

"I said to schedule it for 3:30!" bawled the man inside the Audi, who was incidentally breaking the law by speaking into his mobile phone whilst driving. "And you take it into your tiny little head to schedule the meeting for 3:35! I didn't know you could get even stupider Cratchit!"

The nervous sounding man on the other end of the line was barely audible.

"I'm v-very sorry Mr. Scrooge s-sir!" he whispered in a shaking voice. "I'll reschedule it right away!"

"You'd better!" snarled Scrooge. "Or you'll be having a very merry Christmas…with no job!" He slammed the flip phone shut and tossed it angrily onto the passenger seat, fuming with rage. How stupid could that idiot get?

Mr. Richard Scrooge of Scrooge & Marley's Motors was a pale, thin man, with short, grey hair, cold calculating grey eyes and a thin mouth. He was a selfish, cold-hearted, evil old man; sharp as a needle and hard as stone. He ruled his empire with a rod of iron.

He always dressed the same no matter the weather or the season; a dark grey pinstripe suit, crisp white shirt and navy tie. He carried his laptop with him at all times, busily calculating his profits. You see, Scrooge was a car salesman who sold faulty cars at ridiculously high prices. He and his old partner, Charles Marley, had been running the business for many years, until; seven years ago this very night on Christmas Eve Marley had been in a fatal car crash with a drunk driver and Scrooge had hated Christmas more than ever, ever since then.

And, speaking of Marley…

Scrooge turned his attention to the satellite navigation system, checking to see what the traffic would be like on the way home, not that it wasn't bad enough already.

And then he saw it. Old Marley's face.

Despite paying five hundred pounds extra for a fully coloured SATNav, Marley's face appeared gaunt and grey; his beady black eyes bore into Scrooges own and his designer frames shone in the light from the streetlamps. His face was blank, without expression and he stared at Scrooge with no emotion on his eerie features.

"M-Marley?" stammered Scrooge, his earlier anger and strength of voice draining away. "Is it r-really you, Charles Marley?"

The apparition said nothing, but its expression changed into what seemed to be a glare before it faded from view.

Scrooge shook the incident off in his usual manner: "Those eejits at the factory can't even install a SATNav correctly? If I had my way I'd fire 'em all!" and he continued to distract himself by turning on the radio. Immediately 'I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday' blasted out of the speakers.

"Ach, jings!" growled Scrooge, changing channels with an irritated flick of the switch.

Eventually Scrooge arrived at Donald's Chippie, the fish and chip shop. He parked the car and got out, scowling at the festive sights and sounds that greeted him. Everyone in Edinburgh knew Scrooge from the businessmen to the beggars and they all shrank back as he approached. Upon reaching Donald's Chippie, Scrooge pulled open the door and let it slam shut behind him as he entered. Donald Drysdale, the owner of the fast food joint, greeted Scrooge jovially as if he didn't realise the misers' grim mood.

"Merry Christmas, sir!" he said, smiling widely.

Scrooge, with extreme self control, managed not to say "Ach, jings!" back but merely asked for "A pensioner's supper ana bottle of Iron Bru!" as was his usual order at the chippie.

Once his dinner was packaged and in its plastic bag, Scrooge grumpily reached for his wallet. He slipped it out of his pocket and tugged a fiver from the wad of banknotes. While waiting impatiently for his change, he glanced around at the customers who weren't taking out. They all averted their eyes.

Donald handed the change back, which Scrooge put carefully into his wallet after having counted every penny. This done, Scrooge shoved his wallet back into his pocket, snatched up the steaming bag, and swept from the shop. As he was walking back to his Audi he was verbally waylaid by the busker, who was still strumming 'Feed The World'.

"Spare a penny sir?" he asked, looking up at Scrooge.

Not that Scrooge noticed or cared but a few people had stopped to watch, wondering what selfish old Scrooge would do.

What selfish old Scrooge did was more shocking than some had predicted. He glared down at the old busker for a fraction of a second and an evil glint flashed into his eyes. Then, with one swift motion, he upended the mans tin, scattering its contents far and wide. The busker and several onlookers gasped, and a shocked mother dragged her young boy away, shaking her head in horror. Scrooge gave a contemptuous sniff, turned on his heel and marched back to his Audi. He wrenched open the door, flung his dinner onto the passenger seat and got in, slamming the door so hard that the wing mirror cracked. Scrooge cursed.

Part Three- The Start of the Haunting

At long last, after much ado with traffic jams, Scrooge arrived at No.13, Leaf Walk, where he lived. It was a terraced house with a grand front door and a smart brass doorknob. He grinned with the satisfaction of knowing he had arrived home with no more injures to his beloved Audi and got out, locking the car behind him. He opened his front door, hung up his coat on its peeling gold coat hook and shut the door, double locking it as usual. He got out a plate, knife and fork from his kitchen cupboard and pulled out his still piping packet of fish and chips. He tipped the food onto his plate and shoved the newspaper it had been wrapped in into the bin.

He ate his dinner in silence whilst reading the Daily Mail, scorning the seasonal advertisements, but his mind kept wandering back to Charles Marley's face. Had it been a trick of those dratted Christmas lights? Or had Marley's face been real? As he thought this, Scrooge perceived that he could, yet again, see his old partners face on the patterned wallpaper. He shrugged it off with the usual "Ach, jings!" and drained his glass of Iron Bru. Perhaps it was his imagination, but had Marley's face just appeared on his empty plate? No, it can't have. Scrooge put his plate, knife and fork in the sink and filled up his glass with more Iron Bru. He strode into the living room and turned on his portable television. What was the point in wasting money on a gigantic, expensive hunk of metal anyway? The only good channel, as far as Scrooge was concerned, was the BBC News.

Once done with his television for one night, Scrooge climbed his battered old staircase to his bedroom. There, he sat down at his desk and started to type at his laptop, his fingers flitting across the keyboard in his anxiety to get his spreadsheet finished. Scrooge typed and typed, his computer clock read nine. When it turned fifteen minutes past Scrooge's head hit the desk and he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Part Four- Marley Approaches

Scrooge awoke to the sound of crashing. Startled, he heaved himself off his desk and looked around. His favourite painting entitled 'Man with an Abundance of Money' was in pieces on the floor. Before Scrooge could say anything furious as to why his picture was in its current state, another, this one concerning a bleak and barren landscape, fell from the wall too.

"What the-?" Scrooge cried, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles went white. "What's goin' on?" He could hear more crashing from across the landing, telling him that yet more pictures were falling to their deaths.

As soon as it had started, the noise stopped. No more pictures fell; and the whole house was as silent as a morgue.

And then, Scrooge heard the wailing. A monstrous, melancholy moaning, followed by a clanking sound, not like the jingle of coins that Scrooge was used to but a sound that was both ominous and terrifying. He had by no means relaxed when the pictures and paintings ceased to fall, but now he was rigid with shock and fear, hardly daring to breathe.

"W-who's there?" he managed to choke out. "Show yerself!"

The howling and clanking drew nearer and nearer and, as it did so, Scrooge became more and more afraid, practically paralysed with fear. He tried to shake this new, awful emotion off, but found he could not!

Like a bolt of lightning, a terrible thought formed in his brain, fogging every inch of his mind. Could it be?

Part Five- Mr. Charles Marley

An iridescent mist crept under the door and into Scrooge's bedroom; a biting cold cloud that chilled Scrooge to the bone. The wisps of ghostly cloud were soon billowing towers of smoke that grew colder and colder still…and felt like ice when the spectre appeared. A ghost none other than Old Charles Marley!

He emerged from the plumes of freezing fog and walked steadily towards where Scrooge sat frozen with fear. He wore a suit similar to Scrooge's own, his glasses shone eerily in the ghostly light that radiated from him and his mean black eyes were slits of fury in his gaunt face. Around his middle was a long chain, which wound about him and was threaded with credit cards, car keys, certificates, account books, cheque books, wallets and even the occasional business card. In addition the ghost wore shackles on his feet, these too bearing items of profit and business.

Scrooge opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out.

"Scrooge," began the ghost, its voice wavering. It was Marley's voice all right, there was no denying it. A cheerless, droning voice, which seemed to echo around the room and bounce off the walls.

"Who a-are you?" Scrooge stuttered, although he knew perfectly well what his ghostly visitor's response would be.

"When I was alive I was your business partner, Mr. Charles Marley! But now I am dead I am nothing but another phantom, forced into an eternity of regret and suffering!" Marley's eyes narrowed further, and Scrooge thought he knew why.

"Killed!" the apparition cried. "Killed by some idiot who'd drunk too much, coming home from the pub! Killed by a fool who thought drink driving was clever! He smashed my Ford to bits so he did! It was two hours later when the ambulance arrived, but by then it was too late! I had bled to death at the wheel! I saw the whole scene, as a ghost. Saw those stupid paramedics draggin' my mangled body out of the ruined car! Saw the policeman arresting the man who killed me with a smug grin on his face…he was glad I was dead, so he wis!"

Charles Marley's ghost wrung his hands and sent up a fearful cry, clanking his chain menacingly and Scrooge, now more afraid than ever, shrunk back against his chair, a look of pure horror mingled with disbelief on his withered, old face.

"W-Why are you here, Marley?" Scrooge asked. "And how do I know that you are not just a hallucination brought about by a bad day at the office?" His confidence was growing, bit by bit. Scrooge did not believe in ghosts and spirits and he never had, he was not a superstitious person, so why should he believe in them now? Satisfied with his explanation, he gave the ghost a smug grin, not unlike the one the policeman had given to the ghost's own killer.

The ghost stopped it's wailing and it was his turn to stare at Scrooge incredulously.

"You don't believe in me, eh?" he enquired, as his ghostly brow furrowed.  
"Stop trying to scare me, Marley!" Scrooge said through gritted teeth. "If you really are him!" He refused to believe the ghost was real, he didn't believe in ghosts and phantoms…

"Ah," the spectre said gravely, jerking Scrooge out of his thoughts. "You are even more cold-hearted now than you were when I was alive!"

"What do you mean?" snapped Scrooge.

"There!" spat the spirit angrily. "Underneath that floorboard!"

It pointed a thin, grey finger at one of the wooden panels in front of Scrooge's chair. Scrooge too gazed down at it, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"I never would have noticed THAT as a mortal, Scrooge. But, now I am dead, I have gained insight into many matters, if you'll pardon the pun. You'll see," he continued as Scrooge looked perplexedly up at him, "Under that floorboard I can see a safe! And," here Marley's ghost squinted at the floorboard in question, his glasses askew, "It contains some neatly stacked bank notes!" The ghost laughed then; a chilling, evil laugh that made his chain rattle and added to the terrifying sound. "Thought you could hide that from me, eh? Hiding a secret stash of cash just for you, hmm? Tut tut!" The ghost wagged an eerie finger at Scrooge, who hung his head in shame and fear.

"This ghost really is Charles Marley and, to make things worse, he's discovered my secret safe!" he thought.

In terror at the realisation that the ghost was real, Scrooge lost all self restraint and flung himself at its feet.

"Please Marley, my old friend Charles Marley; please tell me why you are here! I can't stand you scaring me any longer! I believe that you really are Marley, I must! Please stop!"

The apparition smirked. "That's more like it!" he sneered. "And now, to business!"

Part Six- Marley's Warning

Marley's ghost drew itself up to it's full height, seeming to expand and fill the room with his presence. Scrooge watched him; trembling at his feet. Noticing that Marley still hadn't spoken, Scrooge could not help but speak himself.

"Marley, for pity's sake! Say what you must and soon!"

The ghost's expression softened so little it was barely noticeable. But his voice was now strung with sadness and he replied: "It is for pity's sake I came here tonight…pity for you!" The ghost paused, regaining his former, powerful composure, and then he continued, his voice loud and seeming to ring in Scrooge's ears.

"You, Richard Scrooge, live a life filled with avarice and greed, causing pain and suffering, do you not?"

Scrooge nodded gravely, although he inwardly smirked. He was proud of his achievements in life, unlike Marley's ghost.

"If you continue along this road of gain and profit it will cost you dearly in the afterlife; in fact, you will share my fate. Each night condemned to wander the streets unable to meddle in human matters as you once did, having lost that power for good. Bound by a chain you forged in life, a prisoner for eternity in its links. Trust me Richard; this is not an experience you'd wish to endure. Trust me."

Scrooge nodded again, his heart pounding and his hands clammy.

"In life I was wrong…WE were wrong. My evil deeds put me in shackles and yours shall do the same! Look at this chain! Yours was as long as this, seven years ago! Imagine how long it is now, this ponderous chain of yours!"

"What should I do?" cried Scrooge, aghast. "I hear you're warning, but do I have a chance? Help me Charles! Save me from this frightful end, I beg of you!"

The spectre, staring solemnly down at the terrified miser, replied:

"You do have a hope, my old friend. You shall be haunted by three spirits of the past, present and future! Their lessons are your only chance!"

What little colour there had been left in Scrooge's face vanished instantly.

"I-I don't think I, well, I don't want to be!" he retorted. "What I do want is a good night's sleep!"

"What you want no longer matters, Richard. Without these ghosts' visits you have no hope of avoiding the path I, and so many others like yourself, follow."

Scrooge tried to think of an angry retort, but could think of none. He merely bowed his head and waited for his deceased visitor to continue. And continue the ghost did.

"You either repent, see the error of your ways and clean up your act," he proclaimed, hitching his glasses up his nose a fraction "Or else!" He rattled his chain, the credit cards clacking and the certificates fluttering. "Remember what I've told you; take heed of what has occurred here tonight! Make amends, do right where you once did wrong…CHANGE!!!" Marley's ghost screamed its last word; there was a flash of blinding white light, and he was gone. His parting words still echoed around the room; "CHANGE!!!" especially was prominent, an ear-splitting wail of grief and pain.

Scrooge, still reeling from the shock, got shakily to his feet, having to grab onto the chair for support. Had it been real? The words "It wis a dream" were halfway to his lips, when he stopped. No matter how un-superstitious he was, he was sure nothing but a ghost could have shaken him so badly.

Eyes still burning from Marley's departing blaze of light, Scrooge groped his way over to bed and scrambled, still in his business suit, under the duvet.

His mind teemed with thoughts of the phantom, what it had told him and of the three spirits, whoever they may be, before he at last drifted off to sleep; in a house now as silent as the grave.


	2. The Ghost Of Christmas Past

**Stave Two**

**The First Of The Three Spirits**

Part One-Arrival of the Spirit

Scrooge woke suddenly; his dreams had been filled with terrifying images of ghosts and terrifying creatures of all shapes and sizes. Marley's Ghost in particular had been a central character in his dreams and this worried him increasingly as the minutes ticked by. Had it been real or not? Every time he convinced himself it was a dream, the terrifying reality that it wasn't crept in, until Scrooge thought he was going insane.

To distract himself from his anxious thoughts, he rolled over in bed and snatched up his alarm clock on the bedside table. It was twelve o clock. But…that couldn't be right, it was impossible! It had been past two when he went to bed.

'Stupid thing must be broken!' he snarled, hitting it to see if that would make it work. Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. Scrooge got out of bed and hurried to his window, from which, after wiping away the frost, he looked out at the church clock, mounted on the majestic steeple. Its face read midnight as well!

"Huh, it's impossible!" Scrooge muttered to himself, doubting every word he spoke. "I can't have slept through an entire day and way into the next night! The clocks are wrong, that's all!" He got back into bed after finishing this statement…and then he remembered. Charles Marley's Ghost (as Scrooge now predicted he had been real) had proclaimed that the first of three spirits would arrive at the strike of one. Therefore, Scrooge resolved to stay awake until then, to see what would happen. If nothing, he would dismiss the whole thing as a dream. And if there really was a spirit, then…His thoughts tailed away as he waited impatiently for the hour to come.

The clock struck.

"Half an hour to wait!" grumbled Scrooge.

Tick tock.

"A quarter to one!" said Scrooge, staring at his alarm clock again.

Ding dong!

"One o clock, at last!" he snapped, looking around. "And nothing at all! No ghosts, no phantoms, no…AARRRGH!"

The reason for his exclamation was evident, for the entire gloomy room was suddenly full of blinding golden light. Scrooge had held up his hand to shield himself and was therefore filled with terror as another hand, not belonging to him, moved his own away. The light had now dimmed a little and Scrooge could make out the owner of the hand, standing beside his bed.

The figure was female, tall and bony, her grey hair done up in a bun and her bright blue eyes large and full of magic. Although the woman's hair was grey, her face did not appear old but looked like that of a young child, with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her attire too was strange; a white shirt with a sapphire blue brooch at the collar, long navy blue skirt and laced up ankle boots. She looked as if she had come from another era altogether. Noticing Scrooge's fearful expression, she withdrew her hand.

"Are you the ghost that Charles Marley said would come?" asked Scrooge, a mix of wonder and horror catching in his words.

"Yes, I am!" The ghost's voice wasn't child-like, as Scrooge had expected, judging by its facial features, but instead sounded like that of a young woman.

"Who are you?" Scrooge demanded, sitting up in bed.

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past!"

"Many years past?" inquired Scrooge, once again observing the spirits outdated clothes.

"Not at all. As a matter of fact, it is YOUR past!"

"Why have you come here, then?" snapped Scrooge, not entirely pleased at the ghosts arrival.

"Your welfare," replied the ghost calmly.

"Well," Scrooge said. "I am much obliged but I think that a good night's rest will be much better for my welfare, thank you very much!"

The Ghost of Christmas Past, upon hearing this remark, rolled her eyes. "Your reclamation then, Richard Scrooge," As she spoke she reached out her hand again, and gently clasped his. "Rise, and walk with me!"

Scrooge got out of bed as the ghost requested, thinking it a bad idea to plead that it was late, it was freezing outdoors, his bed was much more comfortable and that he was still in his business suit, crumpled after being slept in. He endeavoured to smooth out some of the creases with one hand as the spirit led him to the window.

"We can't go out of this window, spirit! I am a mortal, not a phantom like you! I'll fall to my death!"

"Don't worry, if my hand touches your heart," Here the spirit lightly touched Scrooge's chest. "You will not fall, but fly as I do!"

"But spirit, where are we travelling to? Where are we going?"

The ghost let out a tinkling laugh. "We're visiting the past!"

Part Two- Scrooge The Child

Bright light once again engulfed Scrooge and the Spirit as they travelled, and they soon came to land in a village just outside of the city of Edinburgh. It was an extremely pleasant site to behold; although it was winter and frost was thick upon the green blades of grass, the place had a cheerful and welcoming atmosphere.

"Good grief!" exclaimed Scrooge, gazing about him in amazement. "This is where I grew up! I was a lad here!"

The Ghost of Christmas Past looked pleased at Scrooge's astonishment.

As the pair moved along the weather beaten track, a gaggle of schoolboys approached them, some so delirious with joy at being out of school for the holidays that they waved their caps and ties around their heads and whooped for joy! Scrooge knew each and every one of them, and could name them all! These boys had been his old classmates. He tried to call out to one boy, a bespectacled youth with sandy blonde hair. But the boy paid him no attention and ran on to wish his friends a Merry Christmas, before he headed for home to celebrate Christmas with his family.

'Why?' thought Scrooge. 'Why am I so pleased to see them? Why am I full of cheer at the sounds of Merry Christmas? What is Christmas to me?'

"These are the shadows of things that have happened in the time before us. They cannot see or here us." explained the ghost.

As Scrooge paused to take this in, his gaze travelled towards the schoolhouse, nestled in between the bakers and the greengrocers. He remembered it well.

"Let us go on," intoned the spirit, as if she had read Scrooge's thoughts. "One lonely child, neglected by his schoolfellows, is there still!"

Scrooge said he knew. That solitary child was himself.

As he and the ghost entered his old schoolroom, memories and recollections seemed to fill the air around him; cares, hopes and thoughts long forgotten. He was so wrapped up in these that he didn't see his younger self at first, engrossed in his reading. The child sat at a bare little desk, similar ones filled the room, giving it a dull and gloomy feeling.

Scrooge, looking at his former self, was suddenly conscious of an overwhelming sadness filling him, so much so that he felt tears pricking at his eyes. He sank slowly onto a desk and wept to see himself as he once was. But that was how he was now, alone and comfortless, yet that didn't make him cry…

The ghost, noticing this, spread her arms wide and proclaimed, "Let us see another Christmas!"

At these words, the child Scrooge grew taller, the schoolroom shabbier and more dusty. Scrooge the teenager was not reading now but pacing the floor anxiously, as if waiting for something to happen. And then, something did.

The door to the room burst open and in ran a young girl, who hurried towards the younger Scrooge and hugged him.

"I've come to bring you home, my dear brother!" she cried. "Home, home, home!"

"Home, Mary?" her brother asked.

"Yes, home!" cried the child, clapping her hands. "Home for ever and ever! Father is so much kinder now (he hasn't touched a whisky since October!), and Mother hasn't angered him for AGES! Home's so wonderful now! Father spoke so kindly to me one night when I was off to bed that I wasn't scared to ask him if you could come home again and he said yes! He's waiting outside right now, in the Ford with Mother! We're to go home and have the merriest Christmas ever!" Little Mary began tugging at Scrooge's sleeve in her childish eagerness, and begged him to hurry.

Scrooge, glad to be leaving the dreadful schoolhouse, hurried along with her. They collected his trunk from the schoolmaster, who surprised Scrooge by shaking his hand and wishing him well, before the children piled into the family's Ford and wound their way homeward.

"She was always a gentle child, kind and caring, with a large heart!" the ghost said softly as the car sped away.

"True," sighed Scrooge sadly, wiping his eyes again with his handkerchief.

"She died in childbirth, as I recall. Her children lived however?"

"One boy," Scrooge replied, suppressing a sob.

"Indeed," said the spirit. "Your nephew, Tom!"

At these words, Scrooge looked uneasily up at the Ghost, who, gazing kindly back, exclaimed, "Let us see another Christmas!"

Part Three- Scrooge The Man

Scrooge, looking about him once more, recognized the bustling city at once. They stood opposite an enormous warehouse, which was decorated grandly with Christmas decorations. The shops and offices along the street were all decked out in their holiday best, and the air was full of Yuletide cheer once more.

"Do you recognize this warehouse?" asked the Ghost of Christmas Past.

"Recognize it?" replied Scrooge incredulously, smiling fondly up at it. "This is where my first job was! I worked for jolly old Mr. McFadden, whose company was very well known about the city."

As Scrooge said this, he and the ghost entered. There was Mr. McFadden, at his desk scribbling away, and there sat an older Scrooge, in his twenties now, at a desk next to his fellow employee, a man Scrooge recalled as being Douglas Miller.

"Righto, m'boys!" cried McFadden, in a jovial voice. "No more work tonight! It's Christmas, Douglas, Christmas Eve, Richard! Tidy away now lads, so we can get this place sorted for the annual Christmas bash!"

The two young men were all too happy to oblige and had the desks put to one side, the floor cleaned, the books tidied way, tables set out; everything was soon in order for McFadden annual Christmas party to begin!

In came Mrs. McFadden, in a loud purple dress, in came the three Ms. McFadden's, in came all the company's employees, in came the youngest McFadden child, carrying a tray of snacks, in came one and all!

The party began and it was soon in full swing. There was dancing, games, food, drink, chatter, laughter and, overall, wonderful happiness! As the night progressed, Scrooge, watching his younger self, became more and more animated, sometimes dancing a little to the music!

All too soon for the elder Scrooge's liking, the company ball came to an end. Mr and Mrs. McFadden thanked each and every one for attending and jokingly asked if anyone would like to take home some of the few remaining biscuits. Soon, all the guests had left save for Scrooge and Douglas Miller. The two men thanked their employers before they too left, to retire to bed at their boarding house nearby. As they ambled along the cobbled street, the two men talked animatedly of Mr. McFadden's generosity and praised him for his kindness.

"What a small matter, to make people so full of gratitude!" said the ghost.

"A small matter!" exclaimed Scrooge.

"Isn't it? He has only spent several pounds of your mortal money. Why is it that he deserves this much praise?"

"It has nothing to do with money!" replied Scrooge hotly, speaking like his former self. "It isn't that, Spirit. He had the power to make our work hard or easy, a pleasure or toil! His power lay in words or looks; small things that are impossible to be totted up, but so what? The joy he gives is as great as if it had cost millions of pounds!"

He felt the Ghost's inquiring gaze upon him and he spotted and turned to look at her.

"What is the matter?" asked the ghost.

"Nothing," replied Scrooge.

"There is something, isn't there?" the ghost insisted.

"It's just…I should like to say a word or two to Paul Cratchit, my employee, just now. That's all."

The ghost looked thoughtful for a moment, but then she held out her arms again and said quickly, "My time is near its end. We must hurry!"

As these words were spoken, Scrooge saw himself again. He was in the prime of life now. His face didn't bear the rigid lines and wrinkles of later years, but it was worn with avarice, and restless motion of greed had taken root in his eyes. He was not alone, but sat beside a young woman, who was trying hard not to cry.

"It doesn't matter," she said softly. "And to you it matters the least. You love something else more than me, and if it can make you happy in later life, as I would have done, I have no reason to be sad!"

"What has replaced you?" the young Scrooge inquired.

"Money," she said simply. "Cash, pounds, pennies…gold in all its forms!"

"But," he replied heatedly. "Isn't it important that men should aim to earn more money, with which to help themselves? Is it wrong that we should want to prosper in life, instead of joining those in poverty?"

"You fear the world too much," she answered, calmly. "I have seen all your better goals fall away, one by one, until the most important and sought after goal of all, Gain, corrupts you. Haven't I?"

"So?" the younger Scrooge retorted. "Even if I'm so much wiser in the dealings of the world, my feeling towards you aren't changed!"

The woman shook her head, sadly.

"Are they?"

"We were engaged many years ago now, when we were both poor and content to be poor, until with luck with could improve our fortunes, together. You have changed! When that took place, you were a different man!"

"I was a child!" he snapped, angrily.

"You tell yourself that you haven't become as you are, and yet I am still the same! How often I have thought of this and have been near choked with misery I will not tell you, but I have known it long enough and so you can now be free to leave me."

"Have I ever wanted to break off our engagement?"

"In words…no. You never have."

"In what then?"

"In a changed personality. In anything that made my love of any value to you. Now you care only about money, and you don't care for me. If you were not engaged today, would you try to win my heart now? No, you wouldn't!" She looked upon him kindly, but with firmness.

"You think so?"

"I would gladly think otherwise if I could! But if you were free today, tomorrow or yesterday, would you seek out a penniless woman; you who weigh everything by gain and wealth? I know you wouldn't, and I release you, for the love of the man you once were."

He was about to speak, but with her head turned from him, his fiancé continued.

"I expect you will be sorrowful about this; for a brief time at least. And then you shall dismiss it, shrug it off, forget it altogether, and be glad of it." She pulled her ring off her finger and passed it to him. "May you be happy in the life you have chosen!"

She left his side, and they were parted. The younger Scrooge stood there a moment, gazing down at the ring in his palm. He then shoved it angrily into his pocket and began to walk away.

"What are you doing?" spat the older Scrooge now, shaking a fist in his latter self's direction. "Go after her! Win her back!"

His former self turned a corner.

"You're an eejit!" Scrooge hollered after his, tears of sorrow and anger welling up in his eyes. "A brainless pillock!" He would probably have began shouting curses at his former self if the spirit hadn't touched him gently on the arm.

"Spirit!" cried Scrooge. "Show me no more. Take me home! Why do you take pleasure in torturing me?"

"I told you, these are the shadows of things that have been! They are what they are, do not blame me!"

"Leave me!" said Scrooge, in a broken voice. "Haunt me no longer!"

He was conscious of being over come with tiredness and, furthermore, of being back in his own bedroom. He barely had time to stumble to his bed before he sank into a heavy sleep, filled with sorrow and regret.


	3. The Ghost Of Christmas Present

**Stave Three**

**The Second of the Three Spirits**

Part One- The Spirit's Transformation

Scrooge awoke from his restless slumber and didn't even need to check his alarm clock to see that it was nearly one o clock once more. He felt as though he'd awoken exactly for the purpose of meeting with the second spirit that Charles Marley had proclaimed would arrive.

He sat up in bed and looked around as the hour of one struck, and yet nothing appeared to be there. He was now prepared for anything, having now experienced two occasions in which he had had ghostly companionship and yet the room was empty.

Ten minutes past.

Quarter past.

Half past one.

And still nothing had appeared from thin air, in any shape or form.

But then, Scrooge noticed the light, which had been shining from underneath his bedroom door since one. Why hadn't he noticed that before? He hesitantly got up and, wiser now after his visitation from the Ghost of Christmas Past, pulled on his dressing gown and headed to the door. He opened it slowly, as though expecting something terrifying to be lurking behind it.

There was nothing there. Just the stairs, as usual, save for the fallen paintings from when Charles Marley's Ghost had paid a visit, and that mysterious light at the bottom, radiating from the living room.

Scrooge crept quietly down the stairs, his slippers squeaking against the polished wood. As he finished his decent he tiptoed to the living room door, wondering all the while what the next spirit would show him.

Then, Scrooge heard a voice from inside the room; a voice that called his own name! Nervously, he turned the door handle and entered.

The living room was transformed beyond comprehension. Strung all around the room were Christmas lights, flashing on and off in jewel colours. The old fireplace, beside where Scrooge's television sat on its little table, had no real purpose, but it was now blazing and filled the small room with warmth. A handsome Christmas tree stood in the corner, bedecked in lights and magnificent ornaments, each and every one an icon of the great Christmas holiday; a glittering star perched on the top. Holly, ivy and mistletoe were festooned in glowing greens, reds and whites all around the ceiling. And, to complete the spectacular transformation, snow appeared to be falling from the ceiling, disappearing just as it touched the ground.

Sitting majestically in the midst of this, on top of a pile of Christmas gifts in colourful wrapping paper sat an old man with long white hair and flowing white beard. He was grandly dressed in long robes of red, white and gold, with a bishop's hat in the same colours on his head, this adorned with a golden cross. In one withered hand he held a golden staff with was shaped like a shepherds crook.

"Come!" the man cried, in a thick Eastern European accent. "Come in and know me better!"

Scrooge did as he said, timidly. He was not the Scrooge he had been and although the Spirit's gaze was kind, he did not like to meet it.

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Present!" said the spirit. "Will you look upon me?"

Scrooge did so reverently. He was amazed by the Spirit's splendour, not to mention the magical transformation of his once drab living room. Also, the Ghost of Christmas Present reminded Scrooge of someone, although he couldn't quite remember who.

"You still do not fully understand who I am," the spectre said, as though he had read Scrooge's thoughts. "I also go by the name of Saint Nicholas; and I inspired your modern figure of Santa Claus. Is that how you come to recognize me?"

"Y-Yes, it is Spirit!" stammered Scrooge.

"And yet, I can tell, you have never seen anything like me before?"

"No, never!" Scrooge replied earnestly.

"You mean to say you have never met any of my younger relations, born in earlier years?"

"No, Spirit, I haven't." Scrooge replied, thinking suddenly of his own family shown to him by the Ghost of Christmas Past, the memories still painful. "H-Have you many brothers and sisters?"

"I have indeed. At least eighteen hundred!" replied the spectre.

Scrooge gasped. "An enormous family to provide for!" he exclaimed.

The Ghost of Christmas Present rose from his throne of gifts, his movements graceful and authoritive even as he performed this small feat.

"Spirit," said Scrooge, humbly. "Take me where you must. I walked with the Ghost of Christmas Past last night, and learnt a valuable lesson which I am still learning now. Tonight, teach me what you must, for it will do me good to learn this."

"Touch my robe!"

Scrooge did as he was instructed, and held the material tight in his fist.

The lights, fire, Christmas tree, holly, ivy, mistletoe and magically falling snow all vanished in an instant. So did Scrooge's living room, the night-time and the glow from the fire, and the pair found themselves in the bustling streets of Edinburgh, on Christmas morning.

Part Two- Mince Pies and Church Bells

Ah, Christmas morning. It certainly is a sight to see. Ice had strategically placed itself upon the pavements during the night, so that pedestrians had to step carefully for fear of falling over. And even if they did, they simply laughed and got up again, for it was Christmas morning, and it didn't seem right to be angry or upset on such a special day.

Young bairns, clad warmly in scarves, gloves and hats, dashed cheerfully about the streets, shouting Merry Christmas to one another. Some children zoomed around on their new bikes and scooters that had arrived from Santa Claus the pervious night, giggling with glee, whilst beaming mothers and fathers looked on.

Scrooge and The Ghost of Christmas Present walked amongst the people on the streets, and as they did so, Scrooge noticed that every so often the spirit would wave his staff, and instantly the people all around would be even more cheerful then before.

Two women exited Gregg's the bakers, arguing about whether or not they'd bought enough mince pies. As the ghost waved his staff once more, they stopped bickering, apologised to one another and made their cheerful way onwards.

"What happens-exactly," asked Scrooge. "When you wave your staff like that?"

"When I wave this staff, I bless those around me," the phantom replied. "Especially those who need blessing the most!" He paused, and looked over at Donald's Chippie, where the busker still sat, guitar on his lap, strumming away heartily. Although he was incredibly poor and had no means of food or shelter, he was still glad that it was Christmas, and revelled in the occasion.

The Ghost of Christmas Present, Scrooge by his side, travelled further into the city, passing all manner of shops and offices closed for Christmas and still others that remained open for the festive season. They passed houses full of cheerful children and their happy families, Yuletide partiers and senior citizens, enjoying an early morning cup of coffee and watching the children outside at their play.

The bells of the steeple then sounded, beckoning all good people to come to church. Men, women and children lined the streets as if in a grand parade, each person greeting another merrily and eager to celebrate the reason for the season.

Part Three-The Cratchit Household

Soon, Scrooge noticed, they began to enter a poorer part of the city. They had passed the rows of posh semi-detached houses, Tesco and Argos, these being replaced by blocks of flats, many decorated with graffiti. At many of the entrance ways, and along the scrubby pavements, old crisp packets and empty cans lay like fallen leaves.

He and the spirit entered one such building, on 5 Victoria Way, and made their way to the basement flat, where Paul Cratchit and his family lived. His wife, Judith Cratchit, was busy in the kitchen as Scrooge and the ghost entered, busily fiddling with the rickety old gas stove, trying to get the potatoes to boil. Brian, the eldest Cratchit child, was busily chopping carrots and organizing the rest of the vegetables. Jemima, the second youngest, was happily setting the table, arranging the cutlery neatly beside the family's collection of blue and white patterned plates.

"Where could Lucy be?" asked Mrs. Cratchit, sweeping a lock of light brown hair out of her eyes. "She should be here by now!"

Just then, the second eldest Cratchit entered, her hair tousled from the winter wind.  
"Sorry I'm late, Mum!" she began, setting down her bag, which was full of paperwork. "Mr. Hardwood kept us late last night at the office; he wanted all this paperwork done before Christmas. But it couldn't be done, so he asked us all to come back this morning and bring some home…" she tailed off, and gave her mother a hug.

"I was just going to ask why you were so late, sweetheart!" replied Mrs. Cratchit, hugging her daughter tightly before helping her take off her threadbare coat. "Just sit down by the fire, dear, and get warm. You look frozen stiff!"

Lucy sank gratefully into the moth-eaten armchair beside the Cratchit flats small electric fire, rubbing her hands together to get the feeling back into her fingers.

"When's Dad coming home?" piped up Jemima, setting down the final spoon on the table, and scurrying over to help Brian. "Shouldn't HE be here by now too?"

Right on cue, the door opened once more and in came Paul Cratchit, with the youngest Cratchit, Mini Mike, on his shoulders. Although you couldn't see from his outer, cheerful demeanour, Mini Mike was a gravely ill child, with a heart defect. His parents knew that if it wasn't fixed soon, he might soon be taken from them. But, although this knowledge made them grave in their hearts, they remained joyful people and hopeful for their youngest son, and all their children.

Lucy, Brian and Jemima all hurried over to greet their father, and Mrs. Cratchit helped Mike down from Paul's shoulders. Mike and the other three Cratchit children all talked amongst themselves about how wonderful the Christmas season was this year, and how they hoped it would snow so they could build snowmen.

"How did little Mike behave then?" asked Judith Cratchit, after embracing her husband, who looked tired yet happy, having carried Mini Mike all the way from church.

"He behaved like a little angel, maybe even better!" replied Paul tenderly. "He said afterwards that he really enjoyed the service and he thought that it was wonderful that all these people came. He said that it is good for us to remember, upon Christmas Day, He who made lame beggars walk and blind men see, He who is truly the reason for Christmastime. Him and not the presents, Christmas tree or Santa Claus. It warmed my heart to hear him say these things, my dear!"

"And so it should," replied Mrs. Cratchit, looking fondly at the four children, now seated by the electric fire and chattering away earnestly. "And how is his health?"

"He's growing stronger by the day, I'm sure of it," Paul replied softly.

The Cratchit's then bustled about, helping each other to finish up the last of the Christmas dinner preparations. Mrs. Cratchit boiled the potatoes, Brian and Lucy fixed the vegetables, and Jemima got the mint sauce out of the fridge.

Soon, the family sat down to dinner. Mrs. Cratchit had brought the turkey to the table with pride, although it was a small bird, and cheap, it was suited to the whole family. They all praised her immensely for it; it didn't matter to them that it was small. Any Cratchit would have been ashamed to have pointed it out.

Once they had all eaten their fill, Mrs. Cratchit included, she got up from the table to go and fetch the Christmas pudding. It too was small and cheap, but it looked delicious. She stuck a sprig of holly onto the top and set it aflame and then paraded it into the dining room (which also doubled as the Cratchit living room) beaming with joy at how it had turned out.

The whole family applauded, and Mini Mike beat his fork on the table and feebly cried, "Hurray!" Paul Cratchit hugged his wife and then, grinning broadly, said that it was the greatest success that Mrs. Cratchit had ever had during their years of marriage. Mrs. Cratchit laughed with pleasure at this praise.

As the family once again tucked in, Scrooge turned to the ghost.

"Why are they so glad at the sight of such a small dinner?" he asked, with genuine curiousity. "Surely it's not enough to feed them all?"

The Ghost of Christmas Present looked firmly down at Scrooge. "It's not their fault that their meals are so meagre, it is yours. Your employee Paul only pockets fifty pounds a week, hardly enough for a grand feast!"

Scrooge, shame suddenly grabbing at him, hung his head, but looked up sharply when he heard his own name.

"Mr. Scrooge!" Paul Cratchit cried. "I give you Mr. Scrooge, The Founder of The Feast!"

"The Founder of The Feast indeed!" snapped Mrs. Cratchit, her face growing red. "I wish I had him here! I'd give him a piece of my mind to FEAST upon and he'd better have a good appetite for it!"

"My dear," said Paul calmly. "The children, Christmas Day…I know you don't think well of Mr. Scrooge but please, now isn't the time to start raving about it!"

"It should be Christmas Day when someone, ANYONE in the whole wide world drinks to the health of such an odious, stingy, cold, hard, unfeeling, wicked old man as Mr. Scrooge! No-one knows it better than you do Paul, poor fellow! Not to mention I have many more inventive insults thought up about him!"

"Judith, darling," Paul replied, a little more firmly. "It's Christmas Day!"

"Huh! I'll drink his health for your sake, and that of Christmas Day's, but not his. Long life and a Merry Christmas to him! He'll be very merry, I have no doubt!"

The family drank the toast after her, although they had no joy in it. Even Mini Mike, the cheeriest of the lot, looked glum. Scrooge was clearly the monster of the family, a right chip on the shoulder.

Scrooge's toast done with, the family returned to their Christmas celebrations in higher spirits. They gathered together around the grate, sharing stories and drinking lemonade, and then Mini Mike sang them a song he'd learnt in Sunday School about the Nativity. He had an innocent little voice, and the family rejoiced to hear him sing.

Then the family opened their Christmas presents, which had been piled neatly underneath their small Christmas tree, which had only five battered and woebegone looking ornaments hanging on its branches. Mrs. Cratchit had made the youngest two children a teddy bear each, with scarlet ribbons around their necks, and for Brian and Lucy she had knitted scarves, because the chilly weather in Edinburgh around Christmastime meant that scarves were a necessity. The children warmly thanked their parents and then the family sent up a prayer to God, in thanks for Christmas Day.

After a pause, Mini Mike looked up from gazing fondly at his teddy bear and said softly, but with feeling, "God bless us, every one!"

Scrooge, with an interest he had never felt before upon hearing these words, turned again to look at his ghostly companion. "Spirit," he asked, humbled by Mini Mike's cheerful disposition. "Tell me if Mini Mike will live!"

"I see an empty seat," the phantom replied gravely. "At the family's small table, and this years Christmas gift to him, carefully preserved. If what you see before you remains unaltered by future events, Mini Mike shall die."

"Oh no, kind spirit! Oh no, no!" cried Scrooge, in anguish.

"None other of my race will fine him here," the Ghost of Christmas Present said, matter of factly. He paused, giving time for the message to sink in and then said, "Come, there is still much to see!"

The scene of the Cratchit household dissolved around them and Scrooge kept a tearful eye on them all, Mini Mike especially, until they had vanished altogether.

Part Four- Christmas Together

Scrooge and the Spirit travelled far and wide, all across the country, everywhere they went viewing scenes of Scots folk enjoying the Yuletide season together. They visited hospitals, and the spirit blessed the sick. Every person there from the staff to the patients, had a Christmas thought or memory, some even hummed a Christmas tune. The patients were visited and given presents and cards by their relatives, and all, even those for whom there was no hope, for their illness was so great, were joyful.

The ghost and Scrooge visited the homes of families, with chattering children, doting aunts, uncles and grandparents and cheerful parents, watching the children unwrapping their gifts with ecstasy on their faces. The spirit blessed them, as well.

They visited orphanages, refugee centres, nursing homes, universities and many more places besides, and everywhere they went, the spirit blessed those they saw.

As they travelled, their surroundings grew wilder as they headed further into the countryside. Soon, they had reached the coast. Surely they weren't going to go out over the sea?

Out over the sea they went, the ghost's magnificent robes billowing in the icy winds. They stung Scrooge's face and hands and nipped at his nose but the spirit underwent no discomfort. He and Scrooge came to rest on a boat, which was headed off to a foreign country for trading. And, though the men onboard were far from home, each one was full of Christmas cheer.

So noisy were the roar of the sea and the howling of the wind that Scrooge was surprised to hear mirthful laughter in the midst of it. He turned around, in a shock, to find himself at the home of his nephew, Tom Scrooge!

Tom was laughing, so much so that he was bent double, clutching a stitch in his side. The other people in the room (as Scrooge could see there were six, not counting himself and The Ghost of Christmas Present) were laughing too, through not as extravagantly and with such hilarity as Tom.

"He said," spluttered Tom. "That Christmas was utter hogwash! He said it was balderdash, a ludicrous waste of people's hard earned cash! And he believed it too!"

Scrooge recalled the conversation well, and it sent a pang of guilt across his heart now, remembering that he'd said such things. He had been leaving the office on Christmas Eve when his mobile had begun ringing insistently…

"_Who is this?" Scrooge snapped._

"_It's me, Uncle Richard!" Tom had replied. "Your nephew, Tom!"_

"_I wouldn't care if you were the bloomin' tooth fairy! What d'you want?"_

"_Nothing in particular, only to wish you a Merry Christmas!"_

"_Christmas?" Scrooge had spat, as if it were a swear word or something of that nature. "Christmas is a load of balderdash! Hogwash! A ludicrous waste of people's time and money. You work all year to earn it, fritter it away on Christmas gifts and decorations at the end of the year, and then have months of bills afterwards!"_

_Tom tried to get a word in edgeways, but Scrooge angrily barrelled on._

"_It's only one day of the year! What's the point in getting so worked up about it? As far as I'm concerned, it's just another workday! I think that any eejit who thinks otherwise should be boiled with his own stinkin' Christmas pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart! He should!"_

"_Uncle, please don't be so cross!" Tom had cried._

"_What else can I be, in a world full of fools? I'm surrounded by idiots…Besides, what good has Christmas ever done for you? You don't earn any money from it; you throw money down the drain! You find yourself older, but not a pound richer! You find yourself in debt at least a dozen times over and-"_

"_There are many things," Tom interrupted. "That are good in this world, from which I have not profited…Christmas among them. But I believe that Christmas, when it comes around, is a good time; a loving, kind, honest and charitable time. A time when everyone is merry and joyous, and treat each other as equals, instead of giving them the cold shoulder. A time when help is given to those who need it most and a time, most importantly, when we all celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, our saviour. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put any pounds or pennies in my pocket, I believe it has done me good, and will continue to do me good and I say, God bless it!"_

"_You're quite a powerful speaker, nephew," Scrooge had growled back. "It's a wonder you don't enter parliament and become the next Prime Minister!"_

"_Come on Uncle," Tom had laughed. "Why don't you come and have Christmas dinner with my wife Rosemarie, and I tomorrow? You've not met her yet and-"_

"_Why did you get married?" Scrooge interjected, angrily._

"_Because I fell in love!" Tom replied simply._

"_Because you fell in love?" Scrooge sneered sarcastically. "As if you didn't have enough problems…"_

_Scrooge hung up on Tom, rolled his eyes, and walked on._

Tom's wife, Rosemarie, stopped laughing with the rest, and said, "Shame on him then Tom, eh? There's something the matter with that man!"

"Oh, he's a comical old fellow," Tom had replied, good naturedly. "Though not as cheerful as he might be. However, his offences carry their own punishments, and I haven't a thing to say against him!"

"But I'm sure he's very rich, eh Tom?" said one of Scrooge's niece's sisters. "At least, that's what you always say!"

"So what?" Tom laughed. "It's of no use to him! He doesn't make himself comfortable with it or anything! He hordes it away like some kind of dragon! And, of course, he'll never benefit US with it!"

"I have no patience with him!" observed one of Rosemarie's two sisters, a blonde young lady named Jane.

"Oh, I do," Tom replied, wiping his eyes. "I couldn't be angry with him if you paid me! Who suffers because of his ill will? It's always himself. Here he takes it into his head to hate us, and he won't even come and have dinner with us. But what's the consequence? He doesn't lose much of a dinner!"

"Actually, I think he misses an excellent dinner!" replied Rosemarie, and the others around her nodded approvingly.

"That's good," Fred said. "Because I was afraid, with all our electricity bills, the oven wouldn't work!"

This comment was received with another smattering of laughter.

"Do carry on, Tom!" cried Scrooge's niece, Rosemarie. "You never finish saying what you start to say, do you?"

Tom revelled in another hearty laugh, and he continued.

"I was just going to say that because he refuses to come and dine with us, that he refuses point blank to even meet any of you lot, it makes him lose some pleasant moments, which I don't reckon could do him any harm! He doesn't find any pleasant company in his own thoughts, or his solitary office or lonely old house. I wish to offer him the same chance every year to celebrate the Christmas season, to try and give the old chap a bit of merriment, whether he likes it or not! I pity him, Rosemarie. You see, he may rail at Christmas until he dies but I can't help thinking that, if every year I phone him or visit his office just to say Uncle Scrooge how are you? If it puts him in the mood to leave his poor employee a thousand pounds, that's something at least. Besides, I think I shook him yesterday, on the phone!"

Once again the assembled company laughed at the very thought of shaking Scrooge. But being thoroughly good natured, and not caring what they laughed at so long as they laughed and enjoyed themselves, Tom let them laugh and joined in too.

After they'd finished the remains of their pudding, they had some Christmas music. Scrooge's niece played a little air on the piano, a song which had been familiar to Scrooge's sister, Mary. Upon hearing these strains of music, Scrooge remembered all the visions the Ghost of Christmas Past had shown him, and he softened inside, wishing with all his heart that he might have led life in a kinder way, as his sister had done, instead of becoming avaricious and cold as he had. He wished, now more than ever, that he could change. He didn't want to end up like Charles Marley.

But they didn't devote the whole of their Christmas party to music, Tom, Rosemarie and company. Together they played some games, for it is always fun to act like children sometimes, and when better than at Christmas, when Jesus himself was a child, all those years ago.

First they played a game of blind mans buff and John didn't seem to be blind at all, quite the opposite in fact. He went after Jane like a mad man; tripping over people, knocking over the coffee table, upending a lamp, smothering himself in the curtains…The incredulity went on and on, until, at last, he caught her. Jane exclaimed that it wasn't fair, that he had known where she was all along, but she really didn't mind, and she and John got on well together.

After blind mans buff the family played a game of trivial pursuit, the answers to all the questions Scrooge was quick to fire out and loudly too, although no-one in the room except the spirit could hear him.

The spirit was very pleased to find Scrooge in such a joyful mood, and even more so when Scrooge begged like a little boy if they could stay until everyone had gone home, so that he could enjoy the party. But the ghost said it was impossible.

"They're playing a new game!" cried Scrooge, gesticulating. "Just a half hour spirit, just thirty more minutes!"

The game was called 'Yes and No', where Tom thought of something, and asked everyone to guess what it could be; he could only answer yes or no, whatever the case may be. After a rapid fire of questions they had concluded that it was an animal, a live animal, a disagreeable animal, an animal that talked, that lived in Edinburgh, that wasn't led by anyone or made a show of, it didn't reside in a pet shop, it wasn't killed to be eaten as food, it wasn't a donkey or a horse or a chicken, dog, cat, mouse, cow, bull, tiger, pig or a bear. At each new question, Tom let out another laugh, and by the end of the questions just mentioned, he was so full of mirth that he was obliged to get up off the sofa and stamp his feet with glee.

The second of Scrooge's niece's sisters, Mandy, laughing almost as much a Tom, suddenly cried out, "Ooooh, Tom! I've found the answer! I know what it is, Tom!"

"What is it?" laughed Tom.

"It's your Uncle Scroooooge!" she cried, giggling.

And it was. John suggested however, that the answer to "Is it a bear?" should have been "Yes!" but Jane, ever the silly one, thought that the answer to "Is it a donkey?" should have been "Yes!" instead!

"He's made us very happy this evening, what with all these jokes and games!" said Tom, good humouredly. "And it wouldn't be right if we didn't give him a toast, ungrateful even. Here, we all have a glass of punch ready in our hands and so I say, Uncle Scrooge!"

"Uncle Scrooge!" they chorused.

"A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to the old man, whatever he is. He won't take it from me, but may he have it nevertheless. Uncle Scrooge!"

Scrooge, watching them, had become so elated and glad to be in their presence, even if they had no idea he was there, that if he had been he would have given them a whole speech of gratitude, if the phantom had given him time. Unfortunately for him, the whole scene dissolved at the last word spoken by Scrooge's nephew.

On he and the spirit travelled, visiting all sorts of places of misery, which the spirit filled with hope and Christmas cheer. Everywhere they went there was always a happy ending. As they travelled, Scrooge noticed that the Ghost of Christmas Present grew steadily older. Although he had had white hair and beard to begin with, it was still evident by the deepness of the wrinkles on his hands and face, and his ever hunching stature. He had observed the change, but never told the spirit about it, until they had left a children's Christmas party and stood in a city courtyard.

"Are all spirits lives so short?" asked Scrooge, curiously.

"My life upon this earth is very brief!" the spectre replied. "It ends tonight, when the clock strikes the midnight hour. It is close at hand, you hear!"

As the ghost spoke, it was forty five minutes past eleven, Scrooge could see from his watch.

"Forgive me spirit, if I appear rude, but there is something protruding from underneath your robe, not belonging to you. Is it a foot, or a claw?"

"It should be a claw for the flesh that is upon it!" replied the spectre gravely.

As he spoke, two figures crawled out from the folds of his scarlet and gold robes; two figures that resembled children, but only just. Where youthful beauty should have been, there was only horrifying ugliness. Their faces were ashen, their eyes hooded and sunken, lips wrinkled, cheeks in folds. The children, boy and girl, were scowling, their skeletal forms clad in tattered grey rags.

"Spirit!" cried Scrooge, stumbling backwards in horror. "Are they yours?" He tried to say that they were lovely children, but the lie was such an enormous one, that even his foul tongue couldn't pronounce it.

"They are Man's," the ghost replied. "And they cling to me, for they have no hope left in the world. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both, but most of all beware this boy, for I see Doom hanging about his very form, like a misty shroud!"

Scrooge, tearing his eyes away from the wretched beings at the ghost's feet, cried, "But, shouldn't they have a home? A family to go to?"

The ghost sadly shook its head, and, as it did so, the clock struck midnight. In an instant he, and the two abject children, vanished instantly.

As the final chime struck, Scrooge saw, emerging from the darkness, a mysterious figure, attired in a sweeping white coat, moving swiftly towards him.


	4. The Ghost Of Christmas Future

**Stave Four**

**The Last of The Spirits**

Part One- Conversations

As the spirit approached Scrooge fell to his knees, terrified, for wherever this ghost walked, gloom and misery seemed to surround it. It drew nearer and, as it did, Scrooge noticed that its billowing coat was patched and frayed, its shoes shabby and caked with grime and its hair, which was of the same white as its coat, was sticking up in all directions, and looked as though it hadn't seen a hairbrush in years. Despite its shabby appearance (especially compared to the majestic Ghost of Christmas Present), the phantoms melancholy air and sallow complexion were enough to make it look imposing. Upon even closer scrutinizing, Scrooge realized, with a vague sense of dread, that the spirit bore a remarkable resemble to…himself. Terrified of what this might mean, he spoke, trying to make his voice steady.

"Are you the Ghost of Christmas Future?" asked Scrooge hesitantly.

The mysterious man nodded, looking down through his tangled hair at Scrooge with eyes of chilling blue.

"I know you are here to do me good, spirit, and I appreciate the fact dearly. I am not the man I once was. Will you not speak to me?"

"I shall," the ghost replied. Its voice was grating, as though he had swallowed sandpaper and its tone was sombre, yet authorative. "When speech is needed. I am here, Richard Scrooge, to show you visions of your future!" The spectre pulled its coat closer around its stocky build as it said these words, its tone growing more menacing as his sentence progressed. "Get up off your knees, Scrooge," he said, commandingly. "We have much to see tonight!"

Scrooge did as the spirit asked, trembling in fear of both the ghost itself and the ominous message it had imparted. He was shivering so much, what with the sudden cold and the fear-inducing phantom, that when he tried to follow it, the feat was rendered impossible. The spirit turned and, noticing Scrooge's predicament, gave him a moment to console himself before they walked on.

As they walked, the square surrounding them vanished and there was nothing but dense fog for a matter of moments, but soon the two emerged inside a warmly lit, highly polished, tastefully decorated building. Scrooge recognized it at once as being The Royal Bank of Scotland. He peered around, hoping to see his future self, but he wasn't there. Hoping fervently that his absence meant he'd changed for the better, Scrooge hurried along behind the ghost. They stopped when they reached a group of men, chatting idly in the queue. Scrooge knew all these men; he had worked with some of them in the past.

"I dinnae ken much aboot it!" said one man, following with a yawn. "All I ken is he's deid!"

"When did he pop 'is clogs then?" asked another, almost inaudible due to the woollen scarf almost obscuring his face.

"Last neight," replied the first speaker. "Not that it's really importan' and all tha'!"

Scrooge, listening intently to try and discern what the conversation meant for his future, was puzzled. Who were these men talking about? It clearly wasn't Old Charles Marley, for that was in the Past, and this spirit dealt in the Future. Feeling the eyes of the spirit upon him, Scrooge turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

"What's he done with all of his money, then?" inquired a third man, in a rather snooty way.

"Left it to 'is company, I'd wager. He hasn't left it to me! That's all I know!" said the muffled speaker, with what could have been a smile, if his mouth had been visible. Despite the fact that this comment was hard to hear, the others heard it and received it with a laugh.

"I should think the funeral will be rather cheap," began the third man, wiping his nose with a handkerchief. "For I don't think ANYONE will be going to it! Perhaps we three should go!"

"I'll only go if a lunch is provided, mate," rumbled the first man. "For I simply must be fed, promptly, mind. If I'm nae fed, I can get real cranky an' tha', and ye dinnae wanna see me when I'm real cranky!"

"I'm not as interested as either of you," commented the scarf wearing fellow. "I never wear black, and I never eat lunch!"

"You never eat LUNCH?" exclaimed the first man, before the third interrupted.

"Never mind lunch, chaps! And look, we've been chatting so long the queues getting shorter at last. Get a move on!" He proceeded to jab the man in woolly garb in the small of the back, and the three proceeded in their queuing.

Scrooge was confused. What did that conversation have to do with him and his fate? He would have asked the spirit, but his companion was not looking at him. He was pointing towards two men, who had just exited the bank. Walking through the doors as if they didn't exist, Scrooge and the ghost followed them to hear what they said.

"How are ye?" asked the first man, with a grin.

"All reight thanks, lad! And yersel'?" replied his friend.

"All reight. So, haven't ye heard?"

"Heard what? I'm nae usually one fer gossip!"

"Me neither, but listen tae this!" The man leaned closer so he was whispering in the others ear. "Wicked Old Skinflint's gone and copped it!"

"Really?" exclaimed the other, in shock. "I thought he'd never die!"

The first man laughed and then tactfully changed the subject. "You don't skate, do ye?"

"As a matter of fact, I do!" replied his companion. "What say we go doon to the skating rink after lunch?"

"Sounds brill!" returned the first. "I'll meet you there around two, all reight?"

His friend nodded, and the pair headed their separate ways.

Scrooge was now; if possible, even more puzzled than before. As he saw it, the two visions they'd witnessed so far had nothing to do with him, Richard Scrooge. As far as he could infer, it was just people loitering about, gabbing their heads off. Wasn't there work to be done?

These thoughts rapidly disappeared however; as he noticed the phantom had moved further on. Anxiously he followed it.

Part Two- Jimmy Mason

The spirit took Scrooge towards the very outskirts of the city. As they travelled, Scrooge looked about him, hoping to catch a glimpse of himself or someone who could actually relate to his future. He wanted desperately to ask the Ghost of Christmas Future for answers to his many questions, but kept silent, partly for fear of rebuke but also because there are some silences that simply aren't interrupted, especially not by incessant badgering.

After negotiating a maze of alleyways and backstreets, Scrooge and the spirit arrived at their apparent destination. It was a dingy shop, squashed between two other similarly run down buildings on either side. The door was broken, most of the windows smashed, and the shop's sign had long since been beyond repair. The wind, whistling mournfully along the narrow alley, made the entire building creak and squeal in complaint.

Just as Scrooge was beginning to wonder exactly what their purpose was in standing in front of the shop, he noticed three people hurrying down the backstreet towards them. They were all carrying plastic bags and all looked similarly windswept. As they drew closer, the door to the shop Scrooge and the ghost were standing by opened, and out stepped a squat little man with grizzled grey hair and very few teeth.

"Ah!" he wheezed, rubbing his hands together. "Customers at last!"

"Just let us in ol' mate, eh?" snapped the only female of the group, who was wearing several indistinguishable garments of the same colour. "It's bloomin' freezin' out 'ere!"

"Charmed as ever, Mrs. Dilber!" replied the man with a mock sort of bow. "In you come then, you miserable lot, in you come!"

The spirit alighted quickly after the threesome, Scrooge at his heels. The interior of the shop was no better than on the outside, worse even. Paint was peeling off the walls, unused building tools were collected into a sorry heap in the corner, floorboards had been ripped up and the only light in the place barely worked; a single bulb that flickered on and off every so often like a trapped butterfly.

The only furniture was a couple of stools missing legs, an aged desk and a ladder, not that the latter was technically furniture, but the little man sat on it nonetheless.

"What you got in them bags then, eh?" he asked, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"Let's just say, for a penny-pinching miser, he sure has a lot of stuff!" replied one of Mrs. Dilbers companions, dressed all in black and looking solemn.

The man on the ladder cackled with glee and requested that the sombre man hand over his carrier bag first. However, the third of the customers had other ideas and wordlessly tossed his bag to the man, who, still giggling, spilled its contents onto the floor.

"Let me see…" he said, hopping nimbly off the ladder to inspect the loot. "A fancy lookin' pen…a couple cufflinks…a pair of gloves…and a wallet," Here the man looked eagerly inside. "With no money in it! Useful, that." He dropped the wallet back onto the small heap and then was silent for a minute, thinking. After he did this he pulled out a wallet of his own and peeled out a banknote. He passed it to the second man, who nodded and, creasing the note sharply, stuffed it into his pocket.

"Five pounds for that lot'll do you fine, eh mate?" said the short man, closing his wallet again.

"Aye!" replied his first customer. "Like you always say, you can always count on Jimmy Mason fer a fair deal!"

The man named Jimmy nodded, grinning. He then turned to the solemn man, who passed over his bag, which looked a bit fuller than his friend's.

"A couple of shirts…another pen…he seems to have liked them…a calculator and a pair of socks. That's brilliant Sam, my friend, brill-i-ant! Socks!" Jimmy burst into another giggling fit, and then used his new calculator to decide on a price. "Twelve pounds all right, Sam? Oh, and for the purpose of dull social talk, how are things going at the funeral parlour?"

"The usual, Jimmy," replied Sam, pocketing his money. "The life of an undertaker can really be an interesting one, I tell you. Getting Mr. Cheap here a funeral is going to be a piece of cake, since nobody ever liked him when he was alive!"

Mrs. Dilber laughed derisively at this statement. "True, Sammy, true!" she guffawed. "I have to think though, why wasn't he a nice chap in his lifetime anyhow? Not that I CARE or anyfink but, hey! Who are we to complain? He scared everyone off when he was alive to profit us now he's gone! Speakin' of which, open MY bag Jimmy! Open it!"

Jimmy did as requested, emptying out Mrs. Dilbers bulging bag.

"What d'you make of this then?" Jimmy inquired, as a bundle of white sheets and a duvet tumbled out and onto the grimy floor. "Bed sheets and a duvet!"

"Is he likely to catch cold without 'em?" asked Mrs. Dilber sullenly.

"You mean," said Jimmy, even he repulsed by Mrs. Dilbers collection. "You went in there and came out again with his bed sheets? And his duvet? And just left the body lying there?"

"What else was I to do? This lot had already taken some of the finer stuff!" Mrs. Dilber glared in Sam's direction and then turned back to Jimmy. "And don't you worry. If he'd died of anything contagious, I wouldn't have pinched 'em!" She laughed again, and the other despicable trio laughed along with her.

Scrooge, disgusted by the sight, turned to the ghost. "Spirit," he choked. "Remove me from this terrible place!"

"If you insist!" the phantom said, his voice sharp and sarcastic, a nasty smile playing about his mouth.

He and Scrooge were now in another room, which was all in darkness save for the bed in the middle of the room, lit as if by some unearthly spotlight. The body of the dead man, who had been discussed throughout all the spirits visions, lay on this bed, a single sheet clumsily placed over it. If the sheet was adjusted, just with a touch of his hand, Scrooge would be able to see the face. He would finally know who this man was.

Feeling nauseous, he hesitantly moved closer towards the bedside, trembling in fright and repulsion.

"You want to find out who he is, don't you?" the phantom said mockingly. "Go and find out then!"

"I- I can't, spirit!" Scrooge replied. "I would if I could but I…I haven't the power." Feeling powerless was not a something that Scrooge was used to, and he was ashamed to admit it. "Please," Scrooge implored, gazing up at the ghost. "Show me some tenderness connected with a death!"

Part Three- Back at the Cratchit's

The ghost complied, and Scrooge found himself once more in the home of Paul Cratchit. But the atmosphere of the house had changed, and changed a lot. The children weren't merry and joyous, but instead sat by the electric fire; the two eldest reading and the youngest playing half-heartedly with her teddy bear.

Mini Mike was not with them.

Judith Cratchit sat in the family armchair, seemingly intent on reading her Bible, but every so often, her children heard her suppress a sob. At length, she closed the book with a sad sigh and placed it on the table.

"Your dad didn't happen to tell you when he'd be back, did he?" she inquired of the eldest Cratchit children.

"No, Mum," replied Brian. "But he's walked a lot slower than usual these past few days. Maybe that's what's keeping him?"

"I remember him walking with…" began Mrs. Cratchit, suppressing another sob but then carrying on bravely. "I can remember him walking with Mini Mike on his shoulders very quickly indeed…I miss him so…" Judith hurried over to embrace her remaining children.

The door to the basement flat opened seconds afterwards, and in came Paul Cratchit. At once his wife and children rushed over to give him a hug, and ushered him into the armchair. Mrs. Cratchit brought him a cup of tea, and the family gathered together to hear what Paul had to say.

"I went to see the place where Mike'll be buried," Paul explained softly. "It would have done you good, Judith, to see what a wonderful place it was; all green and beautiful, even with this miserable winter weather. As I was walking home, I came across Tom, Mr. Scrooge's nephew! He noticed I was looking a tad down and he asked me what the matter was. I told him all about our Mini Mike and how he'd been parted from us, and Tom was so kind and sympathetic it was just as if he'd known Mini Mike himself. Very sorry, he said, sorry for you and your good wife as well. Although, how could he have known that?"

"Known what?" asked Judith.

"That you are a good wife, of course!"

"Everyone knows that!" cried Brian, hugging his mother. Mrs. Cratchit smiled and squeezed her eldest sons shoulder fondly.

"As I was walking back here, I felt as if Mini Mike were walking beside me, telling me not to be sad. He says he's happy in Heaven; that he'll always be watching over us…my little, little child!"

Paul broke down completely, head in his hands. The family moved in to comfort him, their eyes brimming with tears too. After a few moments silence, Paul looked up again.

"I am very happy, for little Mike's sake!" he said softly. "I am very happy! And, no matter what happens to us now, whether we are parted or stay together, we will never forget our Mini Mike, and this first parting that came among us!"

Scrooge, witnessing the scene, felt tears streaming down his cheeks. Poor Mini Mike had died…and it was all his fault…

With a heavy heart, he turned back to the spirit, but the spirit had once more turned away. When Scrooge looked back to where the Cratchit's had been moments before, he saw instead an upper class Edinburgh street, populated by offices, shops and restaurants.

"Spirit!" cried Scrooge. "This is the street where my office is!"

"Indeed," replied the ghost, looking about him as if he were getting his bearings, then beginning to walk on.

"But shouldn't we be going there? To see what's become of me in the future?"

"There's no point," replied the ghost, so quietly that Scrooge could hardly hear him. "You won't find yourself there…"

Scrooge, feeling anxious, followed in the spectres wake as they moved on along the street, towards where the park lay. Just past the park, a few yards away, sat the cemetery.

Part Four- The Gravestone

The wrought iron railing that separated the graveyard from the surrounding world soon came into view, and then the graves themselves. At least a hundred of them. The Ghost of Christmas Future seemed totally at ease in his new surroundings, and calmly passed through the gate, Scrooge at his heels.

They passed row upon row of headstones; some wearing away with age, some made of marble, others made of stone, still others adorned with intricate little statues and festooned with flowers, some illegible and some epitaphs still legible, even though the night had fallen soon after they had left the Cratchit's. Whether this was the Spirit's doing, or merely coincidence, Scrooge didn't know.

What Scrooge did know was that, coincidence or not, being in the graveyard at night, accompanied by a mysterious ghost was a terrifying experience. He was well used to ghostly company at this point, but that didn't stop fear from fogging every inch of his mind.

As he and the phantom crept through the masses of graves, Scrooge felt as though he was being watched. Almost as if the spirits of those who lay buried underneath his feet were observing what was happening. This new emotion didn't do him any favours; it only made him start trembling again.

Scrooge and the spectre soon arrived at a more desolate part of the graveyard. None of these headstones bore an elaborate epitaph, was bedecked with floral wreaths or even had a framed picture. Nothing but rough stone, the cheapest money could buy.

The Ghost of Christmas Future stopped at the last grave in the row, and pointed solemnly down at it, without speaking. Scrooge was about to approach, but stopped himself and turned to the ghost.

"Before I look at that gravestone," Scrooge said, his voice shaking. "I have one question. Are these visions you have shown me things that WILL happen or things that MAY happen?"

The spirit made no reply.

"How people lead their lives foreshadows how their lives will end. But, if these actions are changed, if the person changes, then their ending will be changed also. Please, say it is such with what you show me!"

The spirit once again said nothing but simply continued to point. Scrooge, following the direction of its unmoving finger, shuffled towards the solitary stone, trembling even more violently as he did so.

The headstone bore but two words: RICHARD SCROOGE.

Scrooge fell to his knees, horror overwhelming him. It couldn't be his grave…it couldn't be…

"Am-Am I the man whose belongings were stolen? The man who lay upon the bed?" he cried in anguish.

The Ghost of Christmas Future nodded its expression unreadable.

"No, spirit! Oh no, NO! It can't be!"

The phantom pointed from Scrooge, to the grave and back again.

"Ghost of the Future!" Scrooge cried, clutching at its coat. "I am not the man I once was! I will not become the man I would have been; the man in these visions! Why must you show me this, if I am past all hope of redemption?"

The spectres cold gaze softened a little, and its hand shuddered slightly.

"Kind spirit!" Scrooge sobbed, tears he couldn't fight spilling down his face. "I know that you pity me! Assure me that I can change what is written on this stone, by a different life!"

The spirits hand trembled.

"I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year! I will live in the Past, the Present and the Future. The Spirits of all three shall strive within me! I will not shut out the lessons that they teach! Tell me that I may wash away the writing on this stone!"

In his agony, he caught the ghostly hand. The spirit, looking down at him, tried to free it, but Scrooge was strong in his anguish and clung on. The ghost, stronger by far, pushed him away.

Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his fate reversed, Scrooge noticed the shape of the spectres white coat begin to change. It shrunk with the spirit inside it, collapsed and dwindled down into a bed sheet.


	5. The End Of It

**Stave Five**

**The End Of It**

Part One- Merry Christmas

Yes! The bed sheet was his own! He was back in his own room! Could this be for real? Scrooge untangled himself from the bed sheets, staring at them incredulously, as if trying to convince himself that they belonged to him. He then, trembling with mingled fear and relief, rubbed his eyes and opened them once or twice. No, everything was still there; his bed, his desk, his smashed paintings. He was no longer in the cemetery with The Ghost of Christmas Future, surrounded by shadowy graves bearing names of spirits long gone, but in his bedroom, back in the present. Then, at last, the realization hit him. He was back! He was alive! And, even better still, Scrooge had the rest of his life ahead, in which he could make amends!

A wide grin spread itself across his pale features, changing his face so dramatically that he was almost unrecognizable. Scrooge hadn't smiled in years and it was a truly incredible sight to see him do so. His once scowling face was positively glowing with good intentions as he leapt from his bed and began bounding around the room, shouting at the top of his voice!

"There's the place where the ghost of Charles Marley appeared!" he cried, gesticulating with his hands. "There's the floorboard where he discovered my hidden safe! There's the chair in which The Ghost of Christmas Present sat! There's my laptop computer where I was typing up my spreadsheet!" With each new sentence he gave a little excited jump and he only stopped when he was completely out of breath, laughing and crying at the same time. Yes, he, Scrooge, was laughing! For the first time in years, he was laughing! Actually, laughing was a bit of an understatement. He was guffawing as he never had before with tears of joy streaming down his face.

Once he had regained a slight grip on his sanity he hurried over to the window and ripped back the curtains. A weak winter sun shone brightly outside, bathing the dark room with its glorious rays. Feeble as they were the rays of sunlight still managed to make Scrooge's gloomy bedroom shine, welcoming the new day. As he fumbled with the window lock, Scrooge heard the excited cheers and shrieks of children as they built snowmen and threw piles of snow and slush at each other, blending with the peals of the church bells as they merrily chimed the hour of eight.

At length Scrooge unlocked the window and flung it open, just in time to see a boy being pelted with snow right in his face. Dazed at the sudden impact of such freezing cold, he staggered backwards and fell over. The children roundabout laughed, as did the boy, who merely stood back up again and continued the snowball fight. Nothing, not even being bombarded with snow, could spoil Christmas Day.

Scrooge grinned down at them for a moment or two and then called out, his voice more jovial than it had been in his entire life, "Hallo there, you bonny wee bairns! Is this Christmas Day?"

The children looked up at him in surprise. As I mentioned earlier on in this tale, everyone in the neighborhood knew Scrooge, and the children were amazed that he was talking to them, let alone asking about Christmas Day in a cheerful manner! After a pause, the boy who had been hit with the giant snowball plucked up the courage in face of such oddity to reply.

"Yes, it is Christmas Day Mister!" he replied. "And a braw one at that! Merry Christmas!"

"To you too!" replied Scrooge, with yet another smile, before ducking back into his room.

"It's Christmas Day!" he cried, jumping up and down as though he was on a pogo stick. "It's Christmas Day! I haven't missed it at all! The spirits have done it all in one night! They can do anything they like, of course they can, they're spirits aren't they?" Then he laughed and cried some more, before hurriedly pulling on his clothes (nearly strangling himself with his tie) and ran down the stairs of his house to the kitchen, where his land phone was perched on it's stand on the wall. He snatched it up and punched in Tesco's number. Even though it was Christmas, a few of the staff came in early in the morning to see all was well, before heading home to celebrate.

"Hello! Bradley Bates, manager of Tesco speaking!"

"Hello Mr. Bates," said Scrooge. "You know I have your car at my motor company's garage?"

"Of course," said Bradley stiffly. "I accidentally got it towed away one night and the next thing I know it's in your showroom, Scrooge!"

"I know Mr. Bates, and I'm really sorry. I'll bring your car back to your house tomorrow, if that's alright with you!"

"Y-Yes!" the manager stammered, amazed at Scrooge's offer. "That would be wonderful! Thank you SO much Mr. Scrooge!"

"And if it's not too much trouble,' Scrooge went on, a feeling of elation such as he had never felt welling up inside him. "Would you mind sending one of your deluxe hampers of Christmas food over to Paul Cratchit's house? He lives at 5 Victoria Way, quite near your supermarket I believe?"

"Of course sir!" replied Bradley Bates. "I'll have it sent over right away! Merry Christmas!"

"You too Mr. Bates! Thank you very much!" Scrooge said happily. As he hung up the phone, he did a little dance for joy, before quickly stopping and picking up the phone once more. He, Richard Scrooge, was a changed man. Here he was on Christmas Day, making friendly phone calls! He chuckled as he punched in the number that belonged to Ms. McRobbie, to whom he had refused to give a donation the previous day when she'd been collecting for charity. Somehow, he'd kept hold of her business card, even though he'd refused to give a penny. He had just hung up on his nephew, when he'd been approached by the kindly Ms. McRobbie on the way to his car…

_Scrooge, shoving his phone into his pocket, skulked towards his car, muttering darkly as he went. He had almost reached it, when he was waylaid by a young woman whose car, it appeared, was parked next to his._

"_Good evening sir!"_

"_Leave me alone, woman!"_

_The lady looked surprised at his reaction but pressed on. "At this festive season of the year sir, I and a few others are collecting for charity and-"_

"_And why should I care?"_

"_Well, sir, Christmas is a time when want is keenly felt by many and all I ask is that you make some small donation to help those who need it…it would do a world of good!"_

"_Aren't there offices?"_

"_Pardon?"_

"_Aren't there companies looking for staff?"_

"_Yes sir, but what does that have to do with-"_

"_Poor people, madam, are idle people. They are lazy people, who do nothing but wait for work to come to them. If they actually bothered to go and find work and made money, they wouldn't be poor any longer!"_

_Somehow, even in the face of such an uncaring man as Scrooge, Ms. McRobbie continued to present her case._

"_Well then, even if they are that, which most, I can assure you, are not, I'm sure you'd like to help them by giving a little spare change?" She held out her collecting tin and handed Scrooge her business card. Scrooge took it, glanced at it for a moment, and then shoved it into his pocket along with his mobile. When he looked up, he was scowling more than ever._

"_I don't want to donate anything, thank you very much! All I want is to be left alone! I don't celebrate this stupid Christmas season and I don't have the time to make lazy folks merry! I support them through taxation, goodness knows that costs enough, and those who are badly off must go to wherever it is the riff-raff are shoved these days!"_

"_Many would rather die!" the charity worker had cried, horrified that the man was saying such dreadful things._

"_If they would rather die, Ms. McRobbie, they had better hurry up and do it! It would decrease the surplus population around here; it'd be one less thing to worry about!"_

_With that, Scrooge unlocked his car, got in, and slammed the door, causing Ms. McRobbie to jump back in alarm. He then started the engine, glared out his window at her, and drove off, muttering darkly once more._

"Hello?"

"Is this Ms. McRobbie?" Scrooge asked.

"M-Mr. Scrooge?" exclaimed the charity worker.

"Yes, that's my name, and I'm afraid it may not be a pleasant one for you to hear."

"Well, um…"

"I was just calling to apologize for my appalling behaviour yesterday, and I take back everything I said about letting all the poor die and all of that utter rubbish!"

"It is very much appreciated Mr. Scrooge," said Ms. McRobbie, sounding pleasantly surprised. "Thank you for saying so!"

"You're very welcome Ms. McRobbie! Oh, and there's one more thing I'd like to ask, if it's not too much trouble?"

"Not at all, Mr. Scrooge, not at all! Go ahead!"

"Well, I also wish to take back what I said about not giving your charities a donation. I have realized that Christmas is indeed a time for giving and generosity and I'll have a check sent over to your office tomorrow. Would ten thousand pounds be enough?"

"MR. SCROOGE!" shrieked Ms. McRobbie. "You must be joking!"

"I don't joke, Ms. McRobbie!" replied Scrooge, with a laugh. "I just want to know if that amount is sufficient and if not I can always add another thousand to it!"

"N-No, ten th-thousand is perfectly adequate Mr. Scrooge! I cannot tell you how pleased I am-"

"Please," said Scrooge. "Don't tell me. Go and enjoy your Christmas Day, eh? A Merry Christmas to you, Ms. McRobbie!"

"And to you, Mr. Scrooge!" the stunned charity worker replied. "And a Happy New Year!"

_Part_ Two- At Tom Scrooge's

After hanging up the land phone and feeling so elated that he felt he would burst with happiness, Scrooge headed outside, pausing to shout a Merry Christmas to the children next door, whose continuous snow fight showed no signs of ceasing. Then, a wide grin seeming permanently affixed to his face, he unlocked the door to his Audi and got in, turning on the SatNav as he did so.

"It's such a brilliant invention, so it is!" he mused to himself, thinking of how Charles Marley's face had appeared on it the night before, and reflecting on how he'd shook it off as a hallucination. If only he'd known…

He spent the morning out and about in the streets of Edinburgh, greeting everyone he passed with a smile and a Merry Christmas. He even went to church for the first time in many a year, which he enjoyed thoroughly; so much so that he had to wipe yet more joyful tears from his eyes as the carols were sung. Afterwards he stopped quickly for lunch at a nearby café (at which he left a generous tip) before he got back into his car again and traveled farther.

Scrooge's countenance however, started to descend a few notches as he approached his destination: the housing estate where his nephew, Tom Scrooge, lived. He had already made up his mind that he would go and apologize for the horrible way he had treated Tom since he was born. Even though he knew that this was his decision, he still felt a sense of foreboding. What if Tom didn't appreciate him coming? What if he shunned him for acting so horribly towards him? Would Tom's wife too, hate him for what he had said about her? All manner of questions floated around in his brain, but he forced himself to concentrate on the road lest he should 'do a Marley' and crash.

After several wrong turns Scrooge eventually found Tom's house. It was a modest two bed roomed house, with a well tended garden outside where flowers were dotted here and there. Scrooge parked the car and got out, apprehension whirling around in his stomach. What would he say? What would Tom say? Each step towards the door seemed to take a year, and, when he at last reached it, he considered simply running back to his car and driving home...no, he couldn't do that. Not now. He'd have to face the music.

"Ding-dong!" went the doorbell merrily, heralding Scrooge's arrival. From inside the house he could hear the merry sounds of 'Jingle Bells'; a song which had once appalled him but he now found himself tapping his foot to the beat! He could also hear the sound of voices; Tom's Christmas party was already in full swing.

"I wonder who that is?" said a woman's voice. "Everybody's here already!"

A few seconds later, Tom himself opened the door. He started at Scrooge for a split second, hardly daring to believe his eyes; a hat made from tissue paper, clearly the bounty from a Christmas cracker, was perched comically on his head. Was it really his uncle, who had sworn never to contact him, Tom, in any way? Could it really be him standing on the doorstep?

"H-Hello Tom," Scrooge said nervously, forcing himself not to look at his feet. "M-Merry Christmas!"

Tom flung his arms around his uncle's neck, sobbing tears of joy. "Uncle Richard!" he exclaimed, through his tears. "I can't believe you're here!"

Scrooge, choked with emotion, could think of nothing to say. He merely patted Tom awkwardly on the back, still getting used to the new overwhelming emotions filling him. Hearing the commotion at the front door, Tom's party guests had turned up in the hallway to see what was going on.

"Tom…what on Earth?" cried one of the three assembled women. "Who is this?"

"Rosemarie," said Tom, turning to face the woman. "This is my uncle, Richard Scrooge, you know?"

Rosemarie nodded, gazing in amazement at the scene before her eyes. Before either she or Tom could say another word, Scrooge spoke up.

"Tom, I owe you an apology," he began. "I've treated you in such a heartless way all your life, yet you never once got angry with me. You always had a smile on your face, whereas I had a scowl. And I've come to realize that, well, that Christmas is a very special time of year, perhaps the most special! And I'm sorry I've never come to celebrate with you before. Will you forgive me the pig-headed old eejit that I am?"

"Of course I will uncle!" Tom cried, embracing his uncle once more. His uncle had changed beyond belief, both for the benefit of others and also for his own good, and Tom was glad. He turned to the woman named Rosemarie, who was now grinning from ear to ear. "Rosemarie, I'd like you to meet my uncle, Richard!" he said formally. "Uncle Richard, this is my wife, Rosemarie!"

"It's a pleasure to meet you!" Scrooge said; he too was smiling. Rosemarie was every bit as beautiful as Tom had said; she had long curly brown hair which hung about her shoulders, and green eyes that glimmered like emeralds.

Once Rosemarie and Scrooge had been formally introduced, she and Tom introduced the other guests. There were Rosemarie's two sisters Mandy and Jane, Tom's friend John and Tom's best man Bryn, who had been in the neighborhood quite by chance and been asked to join in the Christmas celebrations.

The company then returned to the living room, where they played a game of Snap for a while, before turning on the television for the Christmas 'Top of the Pops' Special. Tom, Rosemarie, Mandy and even Scrooge joined in, while Jane and John sat together on the sofa, laughing at their friends' singing and impersonations of the singers. Scrooge was highly amused when he was handpicked (by Tom) to sing 'Jingle Bell Rock', and then he in turn suggested that Tom should sing 'Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer'. John then decided to join in the hilarity and sang a snatch of 'All I Want for Christmas Is You', which made Jane blush violently.

When the show was over Rosemarie suggested they play Charades. Everyone agreed enthusiastically and so Tom impersonated a chicken, a clown and a tree. Scrooge went next, doing a non-too accurate portrayal of a fish, which got some loud laughs from Tom. Then, concentrating hard, he posed as a ghost, trying not to grin and instead look grim.

"Forget that fish, that was seriously scary man!" commented Bryn.

Scrooge bowed and told Bryn to take his turn. Bryn obliged and soon the room threatened to explode with laughter as Tom's best man acted as James Bond, a dog and an opera singer.

All too soon the party was over. Full to bursting with mince pies Mandy and Jane trailed upstairs to the second bedroom where they were staying, while John reluctantly left, crowing a goodbye to Jane over his shoulder. Bryn too departed for his hotel, and so Scrooge was the last guest left.

"This has been absolutely wonderful," he told his nephew reverently. "I'll never forget this!"

"Me neither Uncle Richard!" said Tom heartily, clapping Scrooge on the back.

Scrooge, waving over his shoulder at the happy couple behind him, got back into the Audi and departed for his home, feeling happy, just like everyone else, that it was Christmas. On his way back home, however, he turned in a different direction, towards that of Donald's Chippie…but his journey there had nothing to do with fish and chips. The street was still heaving with people (though not as many as before), the Christmas lights winked cheerily and the Christmas music streamed from every corner. Instead of scowling as he had the previous evening, Scrooge grinned as he parked outside the chip shop and got out of his car. There sat the busker, strumming away on his guitar, his tin at his feet. Scrooge felt a nasty pang of guilt as he saw that his tin was almost empty; almost everyone had been enjoying Christmas Day with their families at home. Scrooge walked over to the busker and reached into his pocket for his wallet. The busker, noticing a shadow had been cast over him, looked up. When he recognized Scrooge he gave a gasp of shock and stopped playing, gazing up at him with a mixture of fear and alarm on his face. Scrooge said nothing, but merely pulled out a fifty pound note and put it in the buskers tin.

Part Three- Paul Cratchit's Raise

The next morning, Scrooge sat at his desk in the showroom, glancing at his watch. Paul Cratchit was late! Five minutes late. Then ten. Then fifteen. Just as the sixteenth minute ticked by, Cratchit wrenched open the door to the showroom and pelted across the tiled floor towards his office, highly polished shoes squeaking.

"Stop there just a second Cratchit!" snarled Scrooge, attempting to feign his old demeanor. "What do you mean by coming here at this time? You're fifteen minutes late! That's fifteen minutes of my time wasted!"

"I'm v-very sorry Mr. Scrooge sir!" stammered Cratchit, nervously straightening his tie. "I-I won't be l-late again sir…I was at a Christmas party last night you see-"

"Come over here, if you please!" growled Scrooge, trying to suppress the enjoyment that the situation filled him with. Cratchit scurried over to Scrooge's desk, not daring to look at his employer.

"Now I'll tell you something, my friend," Scrooge said, reverting back to his new, cheerful voice. "I can't stand this sort of thing any longer! And therefore," he continued, knocking his swivel chair to the floor as he leapt to his feet, clapping Paul on the back as he did so, while Paul looked perplexed and shocked all at once. "Therefore I am going to raise your salary!"

It took Paul a moment for the absurdity of the situation to sink in. He had a momentary idea of calling 999 for an ambulance, was Scrooge insane? He was giving him, Paul Cratchit, his thankless, underpaid employee, a raise? Impossible!

"Merry Christmas Paul!" Scrooge cried, with an earnestness that could not be mistaken. "A merrier Christmas my old friend than I have given you for many a year! I'll raise your salary, yes I shall! And I shall do my best to assist your family, and we'll discuss it all over lunch at…Henderson's Bistro shall we say? Is that alright with you?"

Part Four- The Christmas Spirit

Scrooge did as he had said, and so much more. He raised Paul's salary, so much so that he and his family could afford first class tickets for a weeks holiday in France; their dream destination for many years. He was also able to fund Mini Mike's treatment in America. It took some time, but soon Mini Mike was fully cured and enjoyed the life of a normal child for the first time. Scrooge also took Lucy Cratchit on as a trainee secretary, meaning she and her father could split their work between them, making it all the more easier for both concerned. He also gave Paul's eldest son Brian a position at Scrooge & Marley's Motors; Brian was a great help when it came to selling the (now authentic!) vehicles for amazing profits!

Every day after work when Scrooge went to Donald's Chippie for his supper he greeted the busker and tossed him a coin, and gave Donald and his staff generous tips when he was in an especially good mood. Sometimes on weekends he would invite the Cratchit family out for dinner, where he enjoyed and relished in the company of the entire family, especially that of the family's youngest members; kind-hearted Jemima and, of course, Mini Mike, the most adorable child in Edinburgh, as far as Scrooge and the Cratchit's were concerned. He was a cheerful lad, optimistic and grateful for all he had, a trait of which Scrooge for one thought he should be very proud indeed.

And, from then on, Scrooge was a changed man. He was no longer frosty and cold-hearted but warm and as cheerful a man as anyone could wish to meet. Many were amazed at the change in him, and they laughed, but he let them laugh, as laughter now cheered him instead of making him scowl with displeasure. Scrooge himself was glad, and that was fine by him.

He had no more encounters with ghosts and spirits, a fact of which he was extremely glad. He no longer needed their guidance and wisdom to help him in his life, he had obtained all they had taught him and used that knowledge well.

However, one frosty evening, Christmas Eve no less, as he was driving back to 13. Leaf Walk, he thought he glimpsed the face of Old Charles Marley, grinning broadly up at him from his map of Prince's Street. He grinned back, and drove on into the night.

The End


	6. Marley's DeathMODERN

Present Day Death

'Hurry up, will you Cratchit?' snapped the gaunt faced individual, who was seated at his leather topped desk, glaring at the man seated across the room from him. 'I want those calculations as soon as humanly possible so I can type up this report properly!'

'Yes sir, right away sir!' replied the man across the room. He was dressed in a rumpled business suit, his tie askew and his brow furrowed as he pored over his computer screen. He often wondered why Marley didn't do the calculations himself, but knew better than to answer back to such a horrific man as he.

Yes, Marley. Marley of Scrooge & Marley's Motors. Mr. Charles Marley, to announce his full title, not that anyone except himself or his business partner Scrooge cared about it in any way. I can hear you asking now, why am I writing of a man who has been dead for seven long years? A vindictive and spiteful man at that? The answer is simple. To tell you of his death.

Just as Cratchit was finishing up the last of his sums, and Marley was polishing off his very late lunch, Scrooge himself entered the room. This, as you all know, was Mr. Richard Scrooge, a man even more evil and full of avarice than his accomplice.

'Cratchit!' he snarled, upon entry. 'I hope you've typed up that page for the website by now!'

'I, well,' Cratchit stammered. 'I've been helping Mr. Marley with his report sir, and haven't had the time! I'll get started just after I've-'

Scrooge silenced his stuttering employee with a glare, before turning to Marley. Scrooge was the chap who showed potential customers the vehicles on sale; Marley was the man who typed it all up into reports, assisted by Cratchit. That's putting it mildly. Cratchit normally did it all for him. Because of their different positions within the company, Scrooge and Marley that is, they saw precious little of each other during working hours.

'Marley,' said Scrooge, his manner a tad friendlier. 'How's your day been? Cratchit's been working 'ard I hope?'

'Aye, so he has!' replied Marley, throwing his empty KFC carton into the bin beside him desk. 'Not to say I haven't!'

It was all Cratchit could do to prevent himself laughing out loud. Marley was an MSN addict of the most fearful sort, not that he had any friends but Scrooge and another few fellow businessmen, and he was constantly online. He also had a bad habit of surfing eBay for no reason whatsoever; not that he conveyed this to Scrooge. If he did, Scrooge would have surely disabled his internet connection, like that time when he caught Marley about to bid on a Sony Widescreen for over 1000 pounds. Marley had sulked for weeks afterwards.

To get back to the point, Cratchit couldn't stop the smallest of chuckles passing his lips as Marley proclaimed his innocence. At this interruption both Scrooge and Marley whirled around, glaring at their unfortunate employee. Cratchit hastily returned to his sums.

'Well,' began Scrooge again. 'Seeing as its Christmas Eve' he spat the latter as though it was the worst of days instead of a day of anticipation for its preceder, Christmas Day itself, 'I'm going to get home early! I cannae wait 'till all this joy and merriment is done with for another year!'

'I concur,' agreed Marley, nodding his head in approval. 'All the Christmas lights make my eyes ache! I'd go to the opticians but there all that tinsel and the cheesy Christmas music…' he gave an over-body shudder and continued. 'I was just thinking of going awae home myself. It's been another one of those days; you ken what I'm talking about?' He got up from his desk, yawned, and signed out of MSN Messenger, before heading over to the coat rack for his coat, hitching his glasses up his nose as was his habit.

Scrooge, peering at his employee's screen, stared blankly at the Messenger window. Intrigued, he clicked a few of the options on the screen before him and soon found himself online as 'Mr. Marley- MSN is 3'. Scrooge blinked. What did all this mumbo jumbo mean?

Marley, having fastened his coat and seeing what his partner was up to, hurried over, delighted at the opportunity to show Scrooge what MSN was and how it functioned, wishing that Scrooge would be online more often. Cratchit took this as an opportunity to escape, and grabbed his coat. He was just about to head for the door, when Scrooge, who hadn't really been listening to Marley, called him back.

'CRATCHIT!' he yelled, so the poor man jumped a foot in the air. "Where d'you think you're going? The workday doesn't end until six and it's only fifty eight minutes past five!'

Marley, looking up from his computer screen where he was having a conversation with 'eBayluvr', hastily logged off and shut the computer down, anxious to join in the torturing of poor Cratchit.

'Besides,' he chimed in, hitching up his glasses again. 'Seeing as you haven't finished those sums yet, I suggest you should stay overtime! Until 6:30, say.'

'But,' spluttered Cratchit. 'I have finish-'

Scrooge interrupted before Cratchit or Marley could say another word. 'I don't want to hear another word on the matter!' he said briskly. 'You, Cratchit, will stay here and finish those sums, and then do the page for the site. And use lots of fancy graphics will you?'

Cratchit nodded, speechless in his outrage and fear of the man, trying not to let either emotion show on his face for fear of yet more work.

'Come along Marley!' commanded Scrooge, tugging his associate to his feet. 'I want to go and buy my fish and chips!'

'They won't run out if you don't get there by six!' Marley replied coolly.

They crossed to the door and Marley opened it, letting Scrooge out first. As he proceeded to shut the door behind him, he turned back to Cratchit.

'Make sure you get that work done. If you don't, there'll be one heck of a lot to pay. And you'll be the one holding the bill!'

And those were the last words Marley spoke to Cratchit…ever.

Scrooge and Marley proceeded to the parking lot, along the way arguing about Cratchit, bills, account books, whether or not to fire Cratchit, who had the better car (Audi vs. Ford) and who had a better laptop computer. Eventually they reached their cars. Scrooge whipped out his car key and unlocked the Audi. Before he could get in however, Marley spoke.

'So, I'll see you tomorrow?'

'Yes!' replied Scrooge. 'Even if it is Christmas. I expect you at ten and no later!'

'Righto! See you then!' Marley replied, giving Scrooge a wave as he too climbed into his car.

And that was the last time Scrooge ever saw Marley…until seven years later. But that's another story altogether.

Marley drove out of the parking lot and onto the main road, glaring out of the window at the festive lights, shop windows and general Yuletide happiness. Marley, just like Scrooge, hated Christmas, the reasons being of such amounts that they would be impossible to divulge here.

He was so busy scorning the season's festivities he didn't see the driver.

The drunk driver.

Who was going at twice the speed limit.

The driver sped closer.

And closer.

And then, with an almighty crash loud enough to wake the dead, Old Charles Marley's life came to an abrupt halt.

_The ambulance and police car both screeched to a standstill._

'_Is he dead?' asked one bystander._

'_What do ya think you eejit?' snapped another. 'Look at the state of his car!'_

_A gaggle of bystanders surged forward, eager to see what had happened._

'_Out of the way please,' boomed another voice. 'This is the police.'_

_The crowd parted to let the officer through. The sirens wails were deafening and the scene of crime was bathed in red and blue lights._

_The driver who had careered into Marley's Ford was just coming to, with much groaning and wincing as he was helped, by some of the paramedics, out of his car. A trickle of blood was slowly running down his face from a cut on his head and his face was white as a sheet. Almost at once, the police officer was upon him._

'_Are you aware, sir, that the speed limits in this area-' he began._

'_I wasn't payin' attention sir!' the man moaned, followed by a hiccup._

'_Hmm,' said the officer, as the paramedics clustered around Marley's car and carefully extracted his body from the wreckage. 'You have evidently been driving under the influence of alcohol, at least twice the speed limit and have, inevitably, in the process committed manslaughter, due to such reckless driving! Sir, I hereby place you under arrest!' He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt and clamped them into place on the man's wrists, a smug smile on his face._

'_Well,' exclaimed one of the bystanders loudly. 'At least it was only Marley!'_

'_Yeah,' replied another with a laugh. 'Old Charles Marley! Now there's one less greedy old skinflint in the world!' He grinned around at his fellow onlookers. 'Ain't that so?'_

'_Very true!' screeched an old lady with a walking stick. 'D'you know he sold my nephew a faulty car once! My nephew were real pleased wiv it and then it broke down on the motorway! That motor company's up to no good!'_

_By now the remaining police officers were herding the onlookers away. Marley's body, mangled and bloodstained, had been carted off to the morgue and his killer to the police office. Slowly the noise died away and silence reigned. As the shops closed for the night, darkness engulfed the street, until the streetlamps were lit. It looked as though nothing had happened, save for the remnants of a battered old Ford and a gaunt, bespectacled ghost, bound in chains and shackles, swooping on the wings of the wind to join his fellows in an eternity of suffering and regret._


	7. Marley's DeathVICTORIAN

Victorian Era Death

If Jacob Marley had known that that night he was going to die and join the inhabitants of the underworld he would have thought himself insane. He wouldn't have believed the very truth, even though it was right in front of him. It was too shocking, too horrific, and why would it happen to him anyway? Surely money-making and the others dealings of his trade would bring him to a rich end? Apparently not.

It was an eve of biting cold; the freezing winds whipped through the streets and chilled all to the bone, while the snow fell thick and fast. The door of Scrooge and Marley's counting house was closed tightly and locked, but the strongest piece of ironmongery could not stop the icy gale from penetrating the dingy room. Scrooge sat at his desk, scribbling on a piece of parchment with his quill and occasionally glancing over his shoulder to see that the company clerk, Mr. Cratchit, was hard at work, which he was. Cratchit was the hardest working of the three, Scrooge, Marley and himself, it would seem. Marley too had his nose to the grindstone; he was herding gold coins into piles of five apiece, grinning to himself as he did so, although occasionally bursting into bouts of coughing.

The clock struck seven and at that same moment the door of the counting house opened and in came Scrooge's nephew, Fred. The door swung shut behind him with a bang, startling Marley so much that he promptly knocked fifteen shillings to the floor where, upon impact, they scattered to and fro. Cursing under his breath, Marley dismounted from his stool and bustled round the office collecting them.

Scrooge looked up from his work, angry that he had been interrupted. When he saw Fred he raised his eyes heavenwards and turned to face him.

"What do you mean by coming here during business hours?" he snapped. "Surely you know better than that?"

Fred ignored his uncle's question and instead wrung his hand. "Uncle Ebenezer, it's such a pleasure to see your happy, smiling face!" said he, taking off his hat and placing it on Scrooge's desk. Cratchit laughed at the comment; Scrooge's face had never been happy or smiling as long as he'd known it. Scrooge glowered and pushed Fred's hand away. Marley had by now picked up all his coins and, glaring at Cratchit, he returned to his desk. Cratchit fell silent at once.

"So, Fred," said Scrooge. "What are you doing here at this time? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"But Uncle Ebenezer, its seven o'clock on Christmas Eve! That's not working hours, that's practically slave labour!"

"Hear, hear!" chimed in Cratchit, without thinking.

"Thank you, Cratchit!" Scrooge said sarcastically, shooting a glare in Cratchit's direction. "If I don't hear another peep from you until eight o'clock you may actually be able to save your situation!"

Fred gaped speechless at his uncle. What had caused him to be so heartless, and on Christmas Eve of all nights? Puzzling over the thought, he said, in an attempt to indulge Scrooge in the Christmas spirit: "Well uncle, why don't you come to my house tomorrow and dine with my wife and I? It would be our pleasure!"

"Are you daft?" growled Scrooge. "First you go babbling on about Merry Christmas and then you go and get yourself married to some woman who'll spend what little money you have on frivolity!" He shuddered violently at the very thought.

Fred, seeing it would be useless to pursue his point, put his hat back on his head and pulled on his gloves. Every year he made this journey in homage to Christmas, and every year it was the same. As he turned to leave he glanced back at the scene before him. Scrooge was poring over his ledger, quill poised in midair as he thought of what to write. Cratchit was back at work, taking note of Scrooge and Marley's various debtors and Marley was busily constructing a tower of crowns, shivering violently from the cold fog that seeped through the keyhole.

"Uncle Ebenezer?" Fred asked, looking back at Scrooge, who did not look up. "Have you ever thought of using the fireplace?" He gestured towards the black grate in the corner, which had been deprived of flames for decades. Fred felt sorry for his lonely old uncle, and even more so, if possible, for his sorry employees, and it saddened him to see Scrooge so selfishly ignoring the fact that one of them looking near freezing to death.

Scrooge, of course, could not read minds and therefore did not know what his nephew thought. He merely shrugged and bid him in his usual gruff manner to leave him in peace. Fred obeyed and the office was silent once more save for the scratching of quills and the occasional hacking cough from Marley. He had had a dreadful cold for a few days now…little did he know what that mere cold would soon become.

As the clock chimed thirty minutes past Marley got up from his stool and made his way over to his partner's desk. He could bear the dreadful cold no longer and hoped his old friend would agree to let him go home and retire to bed. This is no longer the common cold, he thought, and it may only get worse if I continue to stay in this freezing environment! Although Marley knew his home would be no warmer then the office, at least he would have the comfort of a warm bed and perhaps a little gruel.

Scrooge, surprised to see Marley standing by his desk instead of doing his usual tasks, stared at him incredulously. "What're you doing over here Marley?" Scrooge asked.

"I'm afraid I don't feel well Ebenezer," Marley replied, with slight difficulty. "I think I've taken ill with something…"

"Then, by all means, begone from here!" Scrooge snapped. 'Get back to your house and get Mrs. Dilber to call you a medical practioneer. Now, leave me alone! I won't let a little thing like illness distract me from my work!"

"Very well," Marley replied. "Thank you." He donned hat, overcoat and gloves before heading out into the snow.

The streets of London were as cold as is to be expected during the festive season. The snow was pelting thicker and harder than it had been for many a year and the strong winds blew the snow with force against all in its way. Marley peering haphazardly through the sleet, his glasses of little use as they were now encrusted with melting snow was finding it harder and harder to keep on walking. Every time he took a step his walking stick sunk into the snow bank and he was beginning to feel drowsy. Assuming it was the cold going to his brain, he struggled on.

At length he reached his house; a gloomy, derelict building, barely visible through his clouded vision. He let himself in, lit a candle and staggered up the stairs, his breathing becoming more and more of an effort which each step upwards. He was almost at the top when he met Mrs. Dilber, the housekeeper. She at once took heed of his condition.

"Mr. Marley sir, whatever is the matter?" she asked, concern in her voice.

And that was when he fainted.

The door of Scrooge & Marley burst open and in rushed Mrs. Dilber, out a breath and clutching a stitch in her side; having run the whole way to the counting house. Scrooge ignored this interruption and continued his work, sealing one deed and unrolling another.

"Mr. Scrooge!" Mrs. Dilber shrieked, hysteria making her blind to the fact that Scrooge didn't care why she was there, one way or the other. As expected Scrooge did not look up, instead he waved his free hand in Cratchit's direction, making it plain that he should deal with whatever commotion had arisen. As indicated, Mrs. Dilber hurried over to Cratchit's desk.

"I've come to say that Mister Marley ain't expected to make it through the night and that if Mister Scrooge wishes to take his leave of him, he'd best nip along sharply, or there won't be no Mister Marley to take leave of, as we know the use of the word. He's breathing very queer - when he does breathe at all!"

"What?" cried Cratchit, not having realized the severity of his employer's condition.

"He gets home roundabout seven forty, he's all weak an' shaking and he can barely talk straight and then he faints right before my eyes! I got a doctor in and he says it's a case of severe something or other, hypothermia I think it was," Mrs. Dilber explained, with a sad shake of the head. "You'd be best to tell Mr. Scrooge!"

"I, well, he's very busy and hates to be disturbed right now, but I'll try Mrs. Dilber!" Cratchit said reverently. Although he hated Marley and feared both him and his business partner, he knew it was his duty to relay the news to Scrooge. Mrs. Dilber beamed at Cratchit's words and swept from the office without looking back.

"Mr. Scrooge sir?" Cratchit enquired tentatively, arriving at Scrooge's desk.

"Can't anyone see I'm trying to run a business here?" snarled Scrooge, his voice tinged with malice.

"Well, it's about Mr. Marley sir! He's dying!"

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" sneered Scrooge. "If he's dying, he's dying!"

Cratchit gasped, speechless, at his heartless master. Didn't he care about Marley? Had he even understood the news that he had just been told? Then, Cratchit did something he would have never dreamed of doing in normal circumstances…he answered back.

"I'm sorry sir, but did you understand what I said? Mr. Marley, your business partner is-"

"Amazingly, Cratchit, I understood every word!" growled Scrooge. "And furthermore I shall not be leaving this office until eight o' clock, when the working day is over with! On that note, get back to YOUR work!" With that, he returned to his parchment.

Meanwhile, back in Marley's quarters, the doctor had been and gone; saying that there was nothing to be done for Marley, and adding that he was surprised he'd lasted this long what with the state of his residence. Mrs. Dilber hadn't looked too happy about that until she realized he was talking about the temperature of the place. Marley lay on his deathbed; he had by now ceased to shiver and instead lay still, looking as though Death had already struck.

The door to the bedroom opened, and in walked the undertaker, looking as though he was trying to hide the fact that Marley was on the brink of death, and that he was glad of the fact. He explained to Mrs. Dilber that the doctor and sent him, and enquired as to the whereabouts of Mr. Scrooge. The housekeeper replied that he should be there soon, and so they waited whilst Marley lay, gasping out his last.

At long last the hour of eight was upon Scrooge & Marley, and indeed the rest of London. Scrooge, with an ill-will dismounted from his stool. He put on his hat and pulled on his great black coat, fastening up the buttons as though he had all the time in the world. Since he was angrier at Cratchit then was usual he swept from the office without even giving him the days wages. Cratchit grabbed his coat and scarf and ran out after Scrooge, who was walking briskly, even with his cane.

"Mr. Scrooge sir, I know this sounds selfish but I…need my wages sir!" he cried as he caught up with him.

Scrooge extracted a pouch from his pocket, from which he withdrew several shillings. He shoved them into Cratchit's hands and walked on, without looking at him.

"I'm very sorry sir, but I forgot to ask! Is it possible if I have tomorrow off because-"

"Because it's Christmas, I'm guessing!" Scrooge said frostily, managing to be heard over the gale that was now blowing. "Very well, you may take the day, but only because I'm a maytr to my own generousity. I give you one Christmas Day off and you expect them all!"  
"Thank you very much sir!" said Cratchit gratefully. He turned on his heel and vanished from sight in the snow.

Scrooge walked on, all manner of thoughts floating in his brain. Marley was dying? Why hadn't he noticed the fact before? And why was he dying? Just some disease he supposed, hoping he didn't catch it. Would he already be dead when he, Scrooge, finally arrived? If there's anything worse than Christmas it's a Christmas snowstorm…

Mrs. Dilber had almost given up hope that Scrooge would turn up, when he did just that.

"Who's this?" Scrooge asked, pointing to the undertaker. "The doctor?"

"No, he's been and gone. This is the undertaker!"

Scrooge shook the man's hand, with a slight grimace.

The undertaker smiled weakly and then addressed him, with a simple: "We'll leave you two, shall we?"

He and Mrs. Dilber left the room and Scrooge walked over to Marley's bedside. As if he had heard his approach, Marley's gaze traveled upwards until he noticed Scrooge standing there.

"So, they've seen to you properly Jacob? Last rites and such?" Scrooge asked.

Marley nodded; speech was difficult for him as his life ebbed away, yet he knew he had to warn his only friend before it was too late…

"There isn't anything I can do?"

There's my chance! Marley thought. He had to say it now, he just had to…but his voice failed him. He simply nodded.

"Oh! What is it then?" Scrooge asked.

"While…there's still time…" Marley rasped, every word causing him pain to say.

"Time? Time for what, Jacob?"

"I was wrong…"

"Well, we can't be right all the time now, can we? Nobody's perfect, not even you and I. You have no reason to berate yourself, Jacob!"

"S-Save yourself…"

"Save myself?" Scrooge repeated incredulously. "Save myself from what?"

Marley could say no more. In the blink of an eye his heart ceased to beat and his breathing stopped, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. He was dead…dead as a doornail.


	8. Scrooge in Hell

Grave Misunderstanding

Based on a scene from 'Scrooge' (meaning a lot of dialogue pinching!) 

Scrooge opened his ferret eyes, glancing nervously about. What had just happened? All he remembered was falling into his own grave…  
His own grave. He had fallen into his GRAVE. So where was he now? He raised his head a little, to see his surroundings more clearly. He appeared to be in some sort of cave, filled with stalactites and stalagmites; but on these there were carved faces, in grotesque and tortured expressions. The entire, mysterious place was blood red, stiflingly hot and yet chillingly cold at the same time; ominously so. This wasn't like any cavern Scrooge had ever seen before or, he thought, any cavern in existence.

He stood up, legs trembling as he did so. Looking fearfully down at the gravel beneath his feet, he noticed that he had fallen into a sort of pit, in the shape of a coffin. Feeling repulsed, he stumbled away from the hole and approached a nearby stalagmite, to examine it more closely. It seemed to radiate its own heat, like a burning coal. Scrooge reached out a hand to touch it, but as the stone drew within his reach it grew hotter and hotter, so much so that it would be impossible to touch it with the tips of his fingers. He withdrew his hand, wincing.

"Ah!" Scrooge heard a voice behind him; a cheerless, mournful voice which echoed throughout the whole cave and sent shivers done his spine. "So there you are!"

Scrooge whirled around in shock, upon hearing these words; as far as he had been able to tell, he was all alone in this enormous furnace. Apparently not.

His shock however, was soon mingled with joy and apprehension as he recognized the owner of the voice. It was Charles Marley! He looked the same as he had when Scrooge had seen him those three nights earlier; his long chain now slung over one arm, as if it was lighter to carry that way, and a sort of smile, more a grimace, affixed on his pale face.

"Marley!" cried Scrooge, hurrying towards him. "Marley! Charles Marley, my old friend! Where am I?"

Marley raised an eyebrow. "I would've thought it was obvious!" he replied, in a snooty sort of way. Seeing Scrooge's bewilderment, he dropped the tone and continued. "I heard that you were coming down today, so I thought I'd come to greet you, and show you to your new residence…no-one else wanted to, you see…" As he said the last few words, Scrooge thought he heard a scream from somewhere down below his feet. It couldn't have been his imagination because Marley noticed it too, acknowledging it with a sad shake of his head.

He looked down at Scrooge once more, and beckoned him to approach. "Come along then!" he cried. "We don't have all eternity to stand here, y'know!" He vanished into a crevice in the looming wall of rock, Scrooge scuttling along at his heels.

The pair wound their way through long passageways, all with a similar terrifying feel to the first cave. Scrooge, still unsure of where he was and having no idea where they were going, was feeling puzzled and afraid, scurrying hesitantly along behind his deceased partner, said deceased partner being in his element. Eventually their hurried pace slowed to an amble as they descended some steps, and Scrooge was able to catch his breath and ask Marley questions that he desperately wanted answers to .

"Marley," he asked, trembling slightly even in the heat of the place. "Am I…dead?"

Marley looked surprised at the question, and he nodded. "Dead as a doornail, I'm afraid!" he said, a smirk playing about his lips. "Speaking of which, you may find your office here a little small but not, I trust, unfamiliar."

Scrooge, reeling from the shock of the fact that he was, apparently, dead, hurried to pose his next enquiry. "What do you mean?" he asked, voice quaking.

"Your actions in life were so pleasing to the man himself," Here Marley pointed downwards, "That he appointed you to be his personal assistant; a singular offer. You are to be to him what Paul Cratchit was to you…" Marley smirk grew more and more.

"T-That's not fair!" Scrooge exclaimed.

"It's diabolical," Marley replied, chuckling a little. "I have to say though; I find it rather amusing…" He tailed off as they at last reached their destination; a building that had been carved out of the blood red rock.

"Here we are!" Marley proclaimed. "Your office!" Grinning broadly; an evil twinkle in his eye, he pulled open the heavy door. Almost at once a gush of frigid air blasted from the interior, engulfing him for a matter of seconds. When it disappeared, he motioned for Scrooge to follow him, which Scrooge did, shaking even more now with the chill the room emitted.

The office was indeed small, and cramped. There was a large desk at the head of the room, unoccupied, on which sat a computer that looked as if it had been carved from ice. A similar computer sat at another, smaller desk, more off to the side and much less grand than the other. The entire room was blindingly white, especially after the red of the outer caverns and passageways. And it was cold. Freezing, chilling, biting cold.

Scrooge voiced this opinion to Marley; his teeth chattering so that he was hard to comprehend. Marley seemed unaffected by the sudden ice cold; in fact, he seemed quite used to it. His cruel smile was still in place, even as he replied to Scrooge's comment. "The heat's been turned off in here, as you can tell. He thought it might make you drowsy."

Scrooge didn't need Marley's gesticulations to know who he was talking about.

Marley turned for the door, and paused with his hand on the handle. "Oh, and be careful of the rats," he warned, opening the door so that fiery air burst in for a moment. "They bite!" With that, he closed the door.

"Rats?" cried Scrooge, as the door slammed. "What the-"

He was unable to finish his sentence as the door was opened not a millisecond later. It was Marley again.

"I almost forgot!" he scolded himself. "I KNEW there was something…" He coughed and addressed Scrooge. "They apologize that your chain wasn't read upon your arrival…it's so long they had to take on extra devils at the foundry to get it finished! It's even longer than I imagined it would be!" Even as Marley said this, Scrooge became conscious of clanking sounds, drawing closer and closer. Marley, peering over his shoulder, chuckled once more.

"Here it is now!" he said, smug grin back in place.

A line of devils marched past Marley and into the office; some staggering under the weight of the chain they carried on their shoulders. It was indeed very long, much longer than Marley's, at least twice its length! They hauled the lengthy chain over to where Scrooge stood, and began coiling it around him, causing him to sink to the floor under its weight; Scrooge all the while calling out to Marley for help. But Marley stood immobile, leaning casually against the wall, watching the proceedings; uncaring and cruel.

Their task complete, the devils filed out. Marley gave the last to leave a salute, and then made to leave himself.

"M-Marley! Wait! Help me!" cried Scrooge, attempting to extract himself from the chain, but finding it impossible.

Marley chuckled again. "Ach, jings!" he said, shaking his head in false pity. "Merry Christmas!" With that, he closed the door, and Scrooge was alone in the ice cold office.

Even though there was no-one there to hear him, Scrooge continued to scream and cry for mercy, continued to plead for help. But even as he did so, the unforgiving room surrounding him dissolved…and he found himself tangled in his bed sheets.


End file.
